The God in the Machine
by Twistanturnu
Summary: Caroline and Douglas' lives have revolved around Aperture for as long as they can remember. Their attempts to cope within the facility and protect both themselves and their loved ones will shape Aperture's future - and seal their own fates.
1. Chapter 1

_(I have already written all of the chapters in this story, so it's technically complete. However, I'll upload them one at a time seeing as this fic is quite long – you have been warned! Rated T for repeated use of 'damn' and 'hell', and for some teeny tiny moments of none-too-niceness.)_

_**Portrait of a Woman**_

Caroline placed two painkillers and a glass of water on the desk. She swiveled the tablets around on the polished surface, trying to get them in the perfect position. The morning was wearing on and Mr. Johnson still hadn't arrived. He had started coming in later and later, sometimes not showing up until two o'clock. Caroline had tried insisting he stay at home, but he would hear none of it. He would make it, even if it were only for an hour or so. Caroline knew better then to try and change his mind on such matters. And so she spent her mornings making sure everything was set up in its proper position for when he arrived, like an army awaiting the commander.

It was one o'clock when Mr. Johnson entered the small office. His suit was a shade of dull grey, matching his face. Compared to the sturdy stature of his youth, he was practically bent double. Caroline straightened her skirt as he sat down on the leather chair. She stepped in front of the desk, clipboard held at the ready.

"Morning, Caroline," he said, reaching for the tablets.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, forcing a wide smile. She couldn't stand to watch him struggle the liquid down, and instead kept her eyes on the far wall. It was painted a harsh shade of pus yellow, a remnant of the 70s. It made her feel queasy just looking at it. She focused her mind on it, glad to have a distraction from the sickly man.

_Maybe Mr. Johnson would prefer a different colour. Perhaps a gentle blue…_

Caroline was about to make the suggestion when Mr. Johnson started coughing, a deep cough, straight from the pit of the lungs. She shuddered, thoughts about her own health straying into her mind.

"Sir, can I get you anything?" she asked. Mr. Johnson held his hand up and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said once his bout was over. He ran his fingers through his thin hair. "What have you got for me today, Caroline?"

"Turret sales have risen by ten per cent. The Take-a-Wish Foundation is still causing controversy. Since we made testing mandatory for all employees, people have started refusing to come to work." She paused. It disturbed her how mechanical her voice sounded when she listed the updates these days. "Work on the new quantum tunneling device is progressing rapidly. If I may say so, sir, I don't think there's any chance of Black Mesa beating us to it at this rate."

Mr. Johnson laughed, though it was clear from his face that the action caused him some pain.

"That's what I like to hear. We'll make them rue the day they thought they could make a quantum space hole better then Cave Johnson can!"

He finished the last of the water and leaned back in the chair.

"What about the jewel in Aperture's crown?"

"Sir?"

"The GLaDOS."

Caroline gripped the clipboard.

"It is coming along perfectly," she said. "The scientists are very eager. They all recognize what a privilege it is to be a part of the project. The Disk Operating System has been perfected, but there's still work to be done on the Genetic Lifeform aspect. And there is a problem."

Mr. Johnson raised an eyebrow.

"The brain mapping; we decided to experiment on a boy. They practiced the procedure on him, trying to download him into a core. They managed to get the raw basics of his personality, but when they tried to go deeper into his emotions and complex thought patterns, they had to abort. If we had gone any further, he would have suffered permanent brain damage."

"What type of damage?"

"Erratic mood swings, inability to make the simplest of decisions, emotional trauma. Or so we think. The lab boys are working on a way to lessen the risk, but I doubt we'll be able to make it spotless for a while."

Mr. Johnson nodded.

"Acceptable."

Caroline started. She searched his face for a smirk, but for once there wasn't a trace of humour.

"Sir, we may not have any proof that this will happen, but the lab boys tell me there's a strong possibility it will. You could seriously harm to yourself."

"You said it would take a while to make the perfect operation, and a while is something I don't have. The point is, when I started this project, I never intended this human body to live to see my mechanical counterpart. I always had a vision of dying seconds after you had put me into the computer, something real spiritual. Anyway, a bit of brain damage won't hurt a dead man."

"Please, sir, don't talk like this." She could feel her eyes starting to itch.

"You know, Caroline, if it's your job you're worried about, I can guarantee you permanence, plus a pay rise to thank you for all you've done. Just because I have to go doesn't mean you do."

"If I may speak freely, sir, it's you I'm concerned about."

"You won't have to worry once my computer's up and running. Heck, when you're dead I'll be still alive."

Caroline nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Does it scare you?" he asked. "Caroline, you know how I feel about safe science."

"'Never authorize a project unless it gets the lab boys panicking,'" she recited, smiling a little despite herself.

"Exactly. And as fun as it is to watch them squirm, I still need your support. Someone to say, 'That's a great idea, Cave! Sure, I can lose an organ for science!' You've always done that for me."

Caroline wiped her eyes, smearing black mascara across her hands.

"I apologize, Mr. Johnson. I promise you, we _will _finish the GLaDOS… in time."

Mr. Johnson nodded.

"Now, how about a cup of coffee? I haven't stopped yapping since I got here!"

"Right away, Mr. Johnson," she said, stepping out of the bright room and into the dimly lit corridors. She ran a finger over the white tiles of the wall. It was hard to believe so many people had died in this pristine, sterile centre. Behind the door, Cave Johnson was making another of his recordings, shouting something about lemons. Gingerly, she leaned against the door, pressing her ear to the keyhole. It sounded like he'd calmed down, but there was still an edge to his voice as he spoke.

"_I will say this, and I'm going to say it on tape so everybody hears it a hundred times a day: If I die before you people can pour me into a computer, I want Caroline to run this place. Now she'll argue. She'll say she can't. She's modest like that. But you make her! Hell, put her in my computer, I don't care. Alright, test's over. You can head on back to your desk."_

Caroline jerked away from the door, heart pounding. She turned and jogged down the hallway towards the main laboratory complex. Here the spotless walls gave way to smears of rust and grime. The sound of slamming pistons and rumbling engines could be heard behind them. At times, the odd shout from the test subjects and their test associates echoed through the corridors, though the words were incomprehensible.

Finally she reached the room in which the main body of GLaDOS was kept. It was a huge room, yet nearly empty despite the abundance of space. In one corner lay an emergency intelligence incinerator, and a few feet away stood the control button, concealed in a metal housing.

And there, in the middle of the room, drooping from the ceiling like a hanged man was the GLaDOS. She felt a numb chill, similar to the feeling she got when she walked past a lifeless dummy in a shop. It was almost as if they had tried to make it look like a human, giving it a one-eyed head and broken back. The wires which hung around it almost seemed to bind it, and above were flat screens showing lines of binary code and an occasional flash of the Aperture logo.

"Miss Rand! What an honor it is to see you!" called one of the scientists from the raised platform beneath the GLaDOS. He walked over to her and shook her hand. "Dr Henry Tremblay. What can I do for you?"

"I want to know how the Genetic Lifeform and the brain mapping projects are going," Caroline said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

"Why, we sent you a report already this morning, Miss Rand," Tremblay said, grinning. His wrinkles twisted his face into a gnarled caricature of a man. "At least, I told Dr Rattmann to do so. Doug, come here!"

A young man of about thirty who had remained on the platform rushed over, fiddling with his tie as he did so.

"Listen, when I ask you to file a report, you do it!" Tremblay said. Rattmann opened his mouth to protest, but Caroline interrupted.

"I did receive the update. However, I wanted your assumption on how much longer it will take you to finish both the core and the brain mapping operation."

"Well, in all honesty, we could do it now. We've had the capacity to do it for about a week, but of course we still have things to tweak. In our tests and simulations, we've only managed to download the strongest personality trait into a machine. Have you seen the core?"

"I have not, though I intend to examine it for myself. I shall see it now," Caroline said.

"Of course. Dr Rattmann, lead the way," Tremblay said, waving at the scientist as if he was giving a command to a dog.

Rattmann led them away from GLaDOS' chamber into a workshop, mainly taken up by a large desk littered with blueprints. Piles of weighted storage cubes and even the odd turret had been pushed to the side of the room. The scientists moved over to the filing cabinets and started pushing them aside. After a few minutes, they pulled a metal box from behind it and clicked it open. Caroline could hear a chattering sound from within.

"The space core," Dr Tremblay announced, stepping aside as Rattmann pulled a large, spherical machine from the container. He held it by two flexible handles which protruded from each side of its single optic.

"Space. Want to go to space," it said, in a shrill electronic voice.

"This was what we got out of that young orphan. It seemed he had a special interest in… space."

"Dad's space; want to go. Space. Ooh! Now, bu-bu-bub - space," the core said, rolling its yellow optic around.

"It's a shame you could not have gone deeper into his mind," Caroline said.

"We did," said Dr Rattmann, his voice quiet.

"The report told me you aborted the procedure," she said.

"Oh, of course we did," Tremblay said quickly, glaring at Rattmann. "But admittedly, we continued a little longer then we reported. After all, who could resist plowing deeper? The boy is currently in stasis while we run scans on his brain. We want to see the full extent of the damage on it. I'm afraid his ability to control himself has been compromised."

"In other words, the speculations you gave me are actually factual," Caroline said.

"Yes, but he should be fine," Tremblay said, patting the core's hull with such force that he nearly knocked it from Rattmann's hands.

"I thought I told you to exercise extreme caution," she said. "The subject is only a boy."

"But we were doing it for Mr. Johnson. Besides, after some grief counseling, the lad will be good as new," Dr Tremblay said, taking the ranting machine from Rattmann and placing it back in the cage. "Back to the matter at hand; if Mr. Johnson's condition deteriorates over the next week, I'm sure we'll be able to get him into the GLaDOS safely. However, if he lives until the projects can reach their natural conclusions, then you'll be looking at about two-to-three months. Now that testing is mandatory, we can start practicing the brain mapping on the abundant test subjects. Who's going to pass up the opportunity to become immortal?" he said, lips curving into a smile at the thought of the experiments.

"Very well," Caroline said, turning to leave. She paused at the doorway. "And no more testing on the boy. I want you to find him a good orphanage when you bring him out of stasis."

"Of course, Miss Rand. Have a nice day," Tremblay said.

Doug shook his head as soon as she was gone.

"Can you believe that woman?" he said.

"Quite the looker for a woman of her advanced years, isn't she? Still, you know what Johnson said when we first joined Aperture. 'Stare at her for longer then ten seconds and I'll let you see first hand how the human body reacts to temperatures of 4000 Kelvin.' A real shame."

"Not like that. How can she act so calmly to the news we've been experimenting on an eleven year old boy?"

"If you felt uncomfortable with the affair, you should have said."

"I did!"

"Look, I've seen you watching test subjects go through much worse. You never complained then. How's a child any different?"

"The test subjects you speak of all volunteered. That or they were employees, in which case they knew what to expect when they signed up. The boy is… was just looking for his father. He said this wasn't the first research facility he inquired at."

Dr Tremblay pushed the filing cabinets back into place.

"If you're having so much trouble with the GLaDOS project, you can always start your mandatory testing early."

With that, Tremblay left. Rattmann hung back, staring at the stack of storage cubes. At the bottom of the tower was a companion cube. He leant down and ran his hand over the heart on one of the faces.

Then, rising, he made his way back.

_(The first of many chapters, split up into easily digestible chunks so the whole slips down as easily as if it were coated with propulsion gel – which, by the way, is now on sale again for only $40 per tub! I bought ten!)_


	2. Chapter 2

_(Just so you know, this fic mostly focuses on Doug with others thrown into the mix. There's no Chelley and my take on Caveline isn't very romantic, despite _  
_my love for both of those pairings!)_

_**The Machiavellian**_

Doug spent the rest of the day in a daze, barely paying attention to what he was doing. He typed away at one of the computers outside the GLaDOS' room, slowly losing his sense of time. Two blank walls had been put on each side of the entrance, making three-sided cubicle for whoever was working there. He could see the logic; without them blocking his sight, he would not be able to keep his eyes off the machine. Although it had not been turned on yet, there was a strange presence about it, as if it were alive and watching. Perhaps it was the way the head hung down towards the entrance, as if it was waiting for someone to arrive. He shook his head. He had been terrified of the voices which had followed him all his life, and he had found equilibrium. He refused to let an inanimate object cause a relapse in his health.

"Doug, can you type a little slower?"

Doug jumped in his seat and looked over his shoulder. Dr Tremblay was standing over him, eyebrows raised.

"The codes I'm working on are highly complex. I need to think," Doug said, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

"Hey, calm down! No need to get in such a twist. You might like to know it's five o'clock."

"Already?"

"Yes. Hope you can manage to tear yourself away from your work." Tremblay squinted again at Doug's writing and marched off down the hallway. Doug shut down the system and stood up, stretching his stiff legs. After a final glance at GLaDOS, he started down the long passage himself, shivering as he passed through the emancipation grid. As he made his way through the tangle of stairs and catwalks, getting closer to the surface, he could feel himself starting to breathe easier. Somehow, the thought of getting out of the enrichment center was still a comfort, despite all his years working there. There was also a change to the air. It started to smell fresher. Only marginally, but enough to let him know he was nearing the outside world.

Today, however, the relief was somewhat nullified. Everyone knew that Cave Johnson only had a few months left to live, but the fact that Miss Rand had personally come to ask how much longer the brain-mapping process would take to complete suggested his condition was worse then they had imagined. Aperture would do what they normally did when presented with a deadline; demand ridiculous hours from all employees. Rattmann found it hard enough to work on the machine without being forced to spend even more time with it.

As he scaled another flight of stairs, two familiar voices reached his ears. The first was Miss Rand, her tone low. The second was that of Wheatley Pendleton, a test associate from Bristol, who occasionally visited GLaDOS' chamber to drop off AI test-related results. He, as always, was speaking in a considerably louder tone.

"But it's kind of… well, cheating, isn't it?" Wheatley was saying.

"I promise you, it's nothing that could endanger your job, nor will it taint the outcome of the tests. All I'm asking for is that you keep an eye on her. Maybe give a shout if she's about to do something dangerous and hasn't realized," Caroline said.

Wheatley scratched the side of his head, looking slightly bewildered.

"Yes, of course. Anything you want. It's not like it will cause any harm, is it? Nope."

"She's a bright girl, anyway. I doubt anything will happen to her. I just want to know there's someone looking out for her."

"Understood. A bright girl, she should be fine. All good."

"But don't hold her back; don't give her hints, either."

"Err…"

Doug stepped up onto the landing. Wheatley hopped back a step.

"Oh, Dr Rattmann, sir," he said, straightening up and rubbing his neck. "Have you met Miss Rand?"

"I have. A pleasure to see you again so soon, Miss Rand," Doug said, nodding to Caroline.

"Indeed," she said. "Now that there is no danger of embarrassing you in front of your _important _colleagues, I would like to remind you that your mandatory testing will begin in the august of this year, on a currently undecided date." She turned back to Wheatley, her meticulously polished shoes clicking against the floor.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Pendleton. I shall see you tomorrow when I bring Chell in for testing. Goodbye."

She turned and walked off down the hall before Wheatley could reply. He looked back at Doug with a shrug, grinning like a politician whose scandalous activities had just been unveiled.

"What was she talking about?" Doug asked.

"Sorry sir, she said I couldn't discuss it with anyone else," he said, fiddling with his neat black hair. There was a pause. "Well, seeing as it's only you. Miss Rand's daughter is coming in to be evaluated. She wants to be a test subject. Miss Rand is worried about her, though. She wants me to make sure she's fine. Good parenting, that. She's got my support, I tell you."

"That woman has a daughter?"

"Yep, she's called Chell. Sixteen years old. Apparently becoming a test subject is a kind of birthday present for her."

"And you just called her a good parent. Anyway, I thought those rumors about Cave and her were just that - rumors."

"Of _course_ they're just rumours," Wheatley said, looking reproachful. "She used to have a husband, a test subject. Asian, maybe Chinese, I think. He disappeared fifteen years ago, during testing. I'd actually heard about it before, back in England. It was hushed up quite quickly. Aperture on form, you know? I asked her about it just now, but she didn't want to talk about it. I guess that, if she and Mr. Johnson are as close as everyone says, she might have changed her title back to let him know his advances weren't… unwelcome."

"I suppose she told you not to tell anyone about her husband, either."

"That's right," he said, smiling.

"So why has she chose you to handle her secrets?" Doug asked.

"I'll be honest, sir, I'm not sure, really. She's a bit strange, I think."

Doug raised his eyebrows, lips curling into a small smile. Wheatley continued oblivious.

"She actually got me this job, you know. I was working in a restaurant, a year after I came to Michigan. She came in and offered to let me work here."

"Really, just like that? I know the company will hire pretty much anyone, but normally they're just used as testing fodder."

"Well, I remember bringing her the wrong order, spilling her tea, and then overcharging her," Wheatley said, counting off the mishaps on his fingers. "I thought she was going to floor me at one point, but then, _boom, _new job, better pay. And, well, I'm not going to complain, am I? Of course, now she says it's because I have some sort of special quality she wants to test; she's still designing the tests for me."

"I'd get out now while you still have the chance. Miss Rand's ideas for test chambers are notoriously brutal."

"I'm still hoping it will be more along the lines of a written test."

At that moment, a rather short man came stomping up the corridor, his face concentrated into a scowl.

"Mister Pendleton!" he said, spitting the word 'mister'.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Fane?"

"I want to _thank _you for what you've done to my office."

"Oh, you mean about the paperwork? No need to thank me, mate!"

Fane breathed out through the gaps in his gritted teeth.

"When I got back, I found my filing cabinets in disarray, and a note from _you _saying you had 'wanted to lend a hand'! What were you thinking?"

"I was delivering a batch of test subject application forms to your room, and then I remembered you carrying on about how much you hated filing them, so I thought, 'Hey, why not?' and tucked them away lickety-split."

"Do you even know how my filing system works?"

Wheatley paused to consider for a moment.

"Um, sort of. Actually, not a clue. I probably should have thought about that. Still, it looked easy enough. At least I started it off for you. Surely you can just correct the odd mistake?"

Fane sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"It's all mistakes. I'll have to start from scratch. Not to mention you edited the 'To Test' list; now a bunch of maniacs are at the top of it! I'll have to rewrite that as well!"

"Ah."

"What now?"

"You see, when I finished, it looked so good that I might have actually sent a copy of the new list to the head honchos. To save you the trouble, you know."

"…And now I'll have to redact it. The last time a man redacted a 'To Test' list, he ended up top of it."

"Well, you have to expect things like this to happen when you use a system that's completely different from the rest of the facility," Wheatley said slowly, unsure if what he was saying would make things worse.

Fane raised a trembling fist. Doug placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Mr. Fane. Come on, let me get you a drink," he said quickly, trying to edge the purple-faced man away from Wheatley. Fane yelled a crude parting shot before reluctantly following Doug.

"It was nice talking to you, Dr Rattmann!" Wheatley called, waving.

"Forget quantum space holes, the real mystery is how that idiot's managed to keep his job!" Fane said.

"He's not really the type you'd expect to work at a science facility, is he?" Rattmann said. He now had a good idea of what the man's 'special quality' was.

"Aperture's going to the dogs. There's no dignity anymore," Fane continued, glaring at a tramp that had the misfortune to wander past them at that moment.

"Nostalgic for the shower curtain days, are you?"

"Damn right, I am. We had the military throwing money at us then. Now we practically have to beg for funding. War heroes used to be lining up to test for us, now _we _pay hobos! The test associates all had educations worth sixty thousand dollars, and now we get morons like Pendleton! I tell you, boy, that GLaDOS thing you eggheads are working on had better be good. Without it, Aperture Science is doomed."

_(I'm sorry that Cave isn't Chell's father in this fic, it's just that I love Caveline and Caroline being her mum but have a bit of trouble with the whole father thing. Cave's a lot like Andrew Ryan as it is, __without _

**_spoilers _**

_being the father of the main character as well, a la Jack.)_


	3. Chapter 3

_(Going to tap into Portal 2's ties with Greek mythology a bit. Also, after a moment of indecision regarding what Chell should call Caroline, I decided to settle on 'ma' for purely Scout-based reasons.)_

_**Hera**_

It was seven o'clock when Caroline arrived home, having stayed late to examine the latest safety reviews of the tests Chell would be participating in. The first were sound enough; simple 'put box on button' puzzles. The last few contained thermal discouragement beams, but she felt confident that her daughter could handle them. The blueprints of the tests were still floating about in her head as she opened the door of her Gable Front home. Sighing, she made her way to the kitchen. The company hadn't even hired Chell yet, and she was already worried sick about her. She dreaded to think what kind of state she'd be in if Chell became a full-time tester.

Caroline took out two potatoes, slit them, and placed them in the microwave oven, watching as they spun. Overhead, she could hear Chell's feet pattering against the floorboards as she went about her business. A few moments later she entered, her dark hair hanging in damp curls around her tan face. Although the Asian traits received from her father were most noticeable, there was a definite Brazilian quality to her face, something she had received from her mother's side of the family. She grinned, showing a row of white teeth.

"Hey, ma. How was work?" she said.

"Oh, fine."

"Nothing that might ruin tomorrow?"

"I believe I've mentioned before that it's definitely going ahead."

Chell swung her fist in the air.

"I won't let you down, ma. I'll be the best tester Aperture's ever had."

"I don't believe there's a definitive list of best and worst testers, Chell," Caroline said, starting to grate cheese. Chell's bright smile faded.

"You know, I can take care of myself. When they were interviewing me they said they have special precautions for subjects under eighteen. You don't need to worry," she said, taking the grater from her mother and continuing the job.

"Why do you think I'm worried?" Caroline asked.

"Well, you know. You're all edgy."

"I'm sorry."

"But really, I will be fine."

"I know you will. It's not just you, Chell. The enrichment center was been through many difficulties recently."

"Mr. Johnson?" Chell asked as she prepared the potatoes.

"You know I can't talk about that." Caroline took their plates to the table and sat down. Chell joined her.

"I'm sorry I haven't cooked a real meal for a while. I'll do something proper for the weekend, I promise," Caroline said.

"Great," Chell said. She picked up a book which she had left on the table and flicked to her marked spot.

Caroline watched her as Chell ate and read. She looked so serene that she briefly wondered if she fully understood the risk of the work upon which she was about to embark.

"What are you reading?"

"It's a book on Greek mythology."

"You mean a study of it?"

"No, they're the actual stories."

"You really shouldn't fill your head with that kind of fantasy," Caroline said.

"Why not?"

"Those myths are the result of man trying to understand the world around him, yet lacking the knowledge to make any kind of logical explanations. Instead, they had to tell ridiculous tales. We should leave that dark time firmly in the past. Now we have science."

"Well, what about all the great minds that came form the dark era, as you call it? Aristotle…"

"There is a reason Aristotle's physical sciences were abandoned in favour of the Newtonian."

"You're missing the point. They may not have been correct, but at least they had thought about it. It was a start. Anyway, it doesn't matter that the myths aren't scientific. They're just a bit of fun."

Caroline didn't reply. She jabbed her knife through the potato's skin.

"Science can be fun, right?" Chell continued.

"Always."

"Well, you obviously _are _worried, after all. Why don't you check the tests they'll be giving me, if it makes you rest easier?"

"I already did. But the ones you'll be doing tomorrow can hardly be classed as real tests. They're the job interview. If they hire you, there'll be nothing I can do to protect you."

"Good. I don't need protecting."

"I've asked a test associate to keep a close watch on you tomorrow."

Chell snapped the book shut with an exaggerated sigh.

"Nice, next I'll have someone shouting instructions at me, I guess."

"I only asked him to stop you if you seem to be taking needless risks, or if you are about to act before you take the consequences into account."

"But I don't need it!"

"He's very handsome."

Chell paused a second, before shaking her head.

"That won't work, ma. Tell him to keep his mouth shut."

"I will; after you've finished the job interview tests. Once they hire you, I won't interfere any more."

"Look, how many people have been tested over the years. Hundreds? Maybe thousands!"

"You're exaggerating."

"You never interfered with them. But it's different now, with me, isn't it? Your own flesh and blood?"

"All you're accomplishing is proving my point."

"And what point would that be?"

"That you are obviously not taking this seriously. You can go on about proving you can take care of yourself, but it's clear you don't understand how dangerous this is. It's not all fun and games."

Chell glared at her. Caroline looked away.

"Anything I think is because of what you've told me," Chell said. "You always said I should do everything I can to further the cause of science. When I asked for this opportunity, I thought you'd be excited. You _were. _What changed?"

"What changed is that I thought about it more deeply. I shouldn't have agreed so quickly. And now it's too late."

The image of the space core flashed into Caroline's mind. She imagined the young boy, lying limply in a stasis pod.

"You mean you won't stop me?"

"No. However, I won't tolerate immaturity, and I will insist the test associate monitor you continually."

Chell slumped in her chair, flicking curls of cheese off the edge of the plate.

"You're not making any sense. Do test, don't test," she said under her breath.

"I just want you to be on your guard. Do not presume the scientists are on your side. They won't hesitate to perform potentially lethal experiments on you just because you're young."

"Damn, if they're as bad as you're saying, how come they haven't been shut down yet?"

"That's not important. And don't use such language," Caroline said, rising and making her way to the door. "Just be careful of what you agree to. I have to warn you, for your own good."

"Still no reason to bite my head off because of some silly book," Chell muttered.

"You're right. I'm sorry; I've had a lot to deal with these last few days."

Chell nodded and sat up straight.

"Sure. Sorry."

Caroline gave an empty smile and entered the living room. She sat down on the hard settee and glanced at the two magazines on the armrest; one on local news, the other a science periodical from 1987. Picking up the latter, she flicked to the back.

'_Aperture Science Innovators Set to Create Genetic Lifeform.'_

She had memorized the article. It had been written soon after Aperture had announced the making of GLaDOS. Underneath the professional neutrality, it was clear that the reporter had been buzzing with excitement. After fourteen years, though, the initial impact of the project had been lost. No one cared what Aperture was doing anymore. Now Black Mesa was all the scientific community talked about.

"Back when we were on top of the world," Caroline said to herself. She read the statement Cave Johnson had made and sighed. His words were so confident. She imagined what his face must have looked like when he had done the interview; a beaming smile, eyes bright. It seemed like an eternity since she had seen him like that.

She blinked and put down the magazine, determined not to let the worries of her job spoil her leisure time. Instead, she began reading the local news. There was nothing particularly of interest, but she enjoyed the benign articles. They were a window to a peaceful world, one which she had not been a part of for many years.

_(Why is writing Caroline so hard?)_


	4. Chapter 4

_****__**Designer Jumpsuits from France**_

The car squealed as Caroline negotiated the bends of the narrow lanes, as if trying to remind her that it still needed fixing. She was fifteen minutes late; Chell, unused to waking up so early, had been exceptionally slow that morning. She had insisted on taking a long shower, despite the fact that, as her mother had pointed out, she would be filthy again by the third test. Caroline glanced sideways at her. She was reading a book on quantum physics, tilting it so her mother could easily see the title. Caroline sighed.

"Are you still grumpy about yesterday?"

"Now why would you think that, ma?" Chell said. Her face was pale from reading in the car.

"Look, I don't mind you reading those mythology books. It was a long day; I was just cranky."

Chell placed the book under her feet and sighed.

"I only wanted to test because I thought it would make you happy."

"I _am_ happy. I always hoped you would want to continue our family's tradition of scientific study. But I think I may have been hasty in agreeing to let you test so young."

"Oh, not again," Chell said quietly, leaning her head back.

"Bear with me, I won't start again. You see, the facility has a project; I can't tell you about it, but the ethics involved are… questionable. I don't want you to get involved."

"That's all? You should have just said so in the beginning."

"Well, I'm not actually allowed to mention the project."

Chell smiled.

"Oh, I won't tell anyone."

Caroline turned off the highway and started driving down a lane. The car jolted slightly as it went over the muddy tracks that riddled the road, scattering Caroline's neat folder stacks.

"Is this really the right road?" Chell asked, peering out the window. "It looks like a load of tractors come down here."

"Combine harvesters, actually."

"At a science facility?"

"Indeed. We'll be there soon."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the main entrance of the enrichment center, situated at the edge of a huge wheat field. It was a small building, telling nothing of the massive underground complex beneath. In the distance, Chell could see the silhouettes of combine harvesters. They parked and stepped out. The air was mild, and Chell felt a chill run through her bones.

"It's so big. But why a field?"

Caroline walked to the door.

"Hurry, Chell, we're late."

Chell nodded and followed her into the reception room. It was garishly decorated, with banana-yellow wallpaper and scratched plastic chairs.

"I thought it would be a bit more impressive," Chell said, stroking the leaf of a shriveled yucca. Caroline led her to a circular glass elevator at the far side of the room and, with a nod to the receptionist, tapped the number of the desired floor.

"This is only the beginning," Caroline said. With a hiss, they started travelling downwards. For a few seconds they were in darkness, before the lift emerged into a colossal hangar.

Chell stared open-mouthed as they descended. Catwalks twisted around thick concrete pillars like black cobwebs, making her eyes hurt just looking at them. As the elevator sunk lower, she could see vast conveyor belts carting white tripod machines to and fro as Cartesian robots worked on them, moving with the fluidity of a human arm. Her ears were bombarded with countless different sounds, from the clinking of chains and creaking of metal to the banshee wails of compressed air and steam. Chell squinted, trying to make out where the room ended, but at the limits of her vision there was blue haze, occasionally broken by a flashing red light.

"Alright, I take that back," she said. To her own surprise, her voice came out as a whisper. "I think I understand all those poems about looking up at the sky and feeling insignificant now."

Caroline nodded.

"I remember when they finished building this level; it was the most ambitious area we had ever designed. For a while, I don't think any of us could quite believe what we had made."

"I can see why."

The lift dropped below floor level again, lighting up with a gentle hum. A small screen built into the lift flickered into life, presenting the Aperture logo along with a message informing them that the company took no responsibility for any injuries incurred during the ride.

"I'm sorry I don't have time to show you more of the facility right now. If it's not to late when you've finished testing, maybe I can show you a few more areas."

"I'd love to! You could spend days exploring a place like this."

The lift slid to a halt and opened up onto a room similar in décor to the reception. Several men and women were milling about within, all of different ages, including many children and pensioners. Some were leaning back on the chairs grinning, while others sat up rigidly, looks of terror on their faces. All of them wore orange boiler suits, but that was where the similarities ended.

Chell walked over the opposite wall, in which there was a large window, and looked out. Far below, she could see the shapes of what appeared to be large boxes, covered in robotic arms lit up by small blue lights. Caroline stayed in the lift, ignoring the people in the room. She had always hated interacting directly with the test subjects. Her place was in a quiet office, watching tapes of the tests while some smooth jazz played on the radio. Talking with the testers themselves gave her an unpleasant feeling in her gut.

A test associate who had been signing some papers came over to her.

"Good morning, Miss Rand. Is this the orphan?" she asked.

"Indeed. I trust all the paperwork is in order?"

"Yes, Miss Rand. She'll be able to start testing right away."

"Good. And where is Mr. Pendleton? Typical, I specifically choose him to be her monitor, and he doesn't show up."

"Well, actually, we assigned a different monitor. We assumed that there had been a mistake," the associate said, her voice cracking.

"Then reassign him."

"But ma'am, Mr. Pendleton is a…"

"I know what I'm doing, thank you."

"Eh, of course, Miss Rand," she said, giving an obviously fake smile.

Caroline turned to Chell. She was staring at her, brow furrowed and mouth slightly a-gape.

"I'm leaving now, Chell. I should think we'll both finish about the same time, but if not, just wait for me."

"Orphan?"

Caroline glanced at the test associate. She had resumed her work, and was paying them no heed.

"I don't want anyone else to know you're my daughter," she whispered to Chell. "You wanted me to stop interfering. This is just a way of making sure of that."

"Yeah, well, you could have given me some warning beforehand."

"Well, you're probably right. But there's no harm done, hmm?"

"I- I guess not," she said, looking at the floor.

Caroline smiled at Chell and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Good girl. I'll see you later."

Caroline returned to the lift and gave her a small wave.

"Goodbye, ma," Chell said.

The doors shut before she could reply. A few moments later, the test associate rose and took something from a cardboard box under her desk. She gave it to Chell. It was another orange jumpsuit. She unfurled it and frowned; it would have fit a person three times her size.

"Your jumpsuit. One size fits all."

_(Well, now you have the first part of my theory for the 'adopted' thing GLaDOS loves to taunt Chell about. And I really shouldn't have gone with 'ma' – I can't unimagine Chell with Nathan Vetterein's __voice now…)_


	5. Chapter 5

_(Going to have some minor interaction between Chell and Wheaters in a bit – Must. Combat. Urge. To. Write. Fangirly. Chelley. Gah! And yes, I went with Pendleton for the surname. It makes sense, plus it's quite sweet. Not sure why they changed it, really.)_

_**Don't Hesitate**_

"Please tell him we still can't perform the operation safely.

"Well, try again then; if we do it now, we could…

"I see.

"Was that him talking in the background? What did he say?

"Yes, we do have a medical floor. Are you sure it's a good idea to move him in his condition?

"What do you mean, 'respecting his wishes'? Let me guess, he's waving a sixty-dollar bill under your nose right now.

"…Yes, alright. We'll prepare for his arrival."

Caroline slammed the phone down and inhaled deeply. She had only been in the office for an hour when the hospital had called, bearing grim news. According to them, Mr. Johnson had been rushed in during the early hours of the morning and kept under observation for a few hours. For a while he had lost consciousness and, when he finally came to, he had demanded to be taken to the enrichment center for his 'operation'. The clueless staff had phoned to inquire as to what he was talking about.

Caroline picked up the receiver with a trembling hand and called the life conclusion prevention section of the facility.

"Good morning," said a woman at the end of the line. "This is Nurse Baker speaking, and remember, if your injury isn't immediately life-threatening you may be sued for wasting employee time."

"This is Miss Rand. The local hospital is bringing Mr. Johnson in. Please take the necessary action to accommodate him. He will need to be kept under observation."

"Understood."

The nurse hung up, leaving Caroline in silence. She placed the phone down, but kept her hand hovering above it.

"I should tell the scientists," she said out loud, though she didn't move to make true her words. Mr. Johnson seemed bent on plugging his brain into the computer, but for once, she didn't feel like complying with his desires. The GLaDOS team had sent her the results of two more experimental brain mappings that morning; one had been of a professor named Craig Maple. The only thing his core seemed capable of was listing facts - most of which were incorrect - and dealing out subtle jabs.

The other procedure, performed on a former soldier turned test subject named Richard Wilde, had been much more successful; Richard's core had remembered his name and retained much more of his personality, but the man's obsession with adventure had become the focal-point of the machine's thoughts. At times, the spherical machine seemed to believe it was still a human, and it constantly tried to impress any female that ventured near it. Both men had been put into stasis, and their cores placed in an area near the GLaDOS chamber, along with the numerous failed attempts at creating AI cores.

The GLaDOS itself had been granted access to most of the facility's vital functions, and as such, whoever was downloaded into its core would effectively control the center; Caroline dreaded to think of the damage Cave could do if the procedure went as badly as it had with the three men.

She closed her eyes and opened a communication line to the GLaDOS chamber.

"This is Miss Rand. Mr. Johnson wishes to undergo the procedure now. He will be arriving soon. I understand that this is sudden, and that you are unprepared. As such, please feel free to request the help of anyone that may be able to provide assistance. No, tell anyone you need that they _must_ come, even if they must cut short an important activity. The operation takes full priority."

* * *

Chell took a deep breath and leapt from the platform, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming. The long fall boots clanged loudly as she landed, and for a while she stayed still, crouching close to the ground. She opened her eyes and looked at her legs; yet again, they were totally undamaged. She laughed and straightened up, skipping in triumph. It was the third time she had performed such a leap that day, and she was still unused to the experience. The test associate with the Bristol accent had told her that the boots could nullify the impact of any fall, but that had done little to reassure her. The first two times she had been required to jump, it had taken her a good deal of time to work up the courage. She had fallen with the grace of a shot bird, waving her arms every which way, yet somehow she had still managed to land on her feet.

And this time, she had only had to wait a minute before she felt she could jump.

"Cor, that was near perfect! There's definitely some improvement in the falling department. You might want to get up sooner, though. Unless you were just checking for broken bones, in which case, feel free to take your time."

Chell couldn't help but smile as the English test associate's voice echoed around the room. Although his incessant chatter did get on her nerves at times, it distracted her from dwelling on just how much danger she was in. The thermal discouragement beams had nearly decapitated her thrice, and occasionally she would activate one without realizing she was in its path, resulting in some nasty singes on her legs. As well as all this, the atmosphere of the place was enough to set her teeth on edge. The panels were a pure, nearly blinding white, as if they had been polished non-stop for hours on end. Apart from the sound of her footfall and the ambient noise of the ventilation systems, everything was quiet. In short, it was the epitome of sterility. Whenever the test associate stopped talking, she could feel her stomach clench as the silence enveloped her. It was a relief whenever he started up again. In the background of his messages, she could hear a faint rustling and murmuring, assuring her that she wasn't the only human being left in the facility.

"Of course, being cautious isn't a bad thing. One poor loser from a control group once jumped off a thirty foot ledge into some blue paint thinking it was repulsion gel. Not a pretty sight, or so I heard. On the other hand, it was apparently _very _informative," he continued. A loud chime came from the speakers, followed by a voice Chell didn't recognize. It sounded distant, obviously not intended for her ears, but she could just make out the words 'any advice,' and 'just for suggestions' before a much clearer voice cut in.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Pendleton? Cut the damn link with the chambers when we're getting a message!"

There was a buzz, followed by silence from the speakers.

The device mounted on a slim column in the middle of the room which created the strange blue and orange _portals_ shot one next to the exit of the chamber. Glancing to the left, she saw an orange portal and hastily dived through it. In an instant she found herself next to the door. She paused, giving her mind time to adjust, before walking up to it. It spun open, revealing the lift to the next chamber.

A few minutes later, Pendleton's voice rang out again.

"Right, back again. Okay, a quick message for all of you testers, listen up; there's been a bit of bother. Something big is going on. I can't talk about it, but everyone's been called up to help with it, on the off chance they can lend a hand. But apparently, they can manage without me, so I'm now in charge of monitoring all twenty-nine of you! Normally, you'd have a monitor each, so I'll just have to juggle between you. I'm telling you so that if you snap any limbs, or whatever, and you don't get help straight away, it's not because I'm ignoring you. Chances are I'll be watching someone else's progress at that moment. I should get round to you eventually, so just buckle down and tough it out. All the medics are off helping too, so you'll just have to trust in my first-aid skills. I'm pretty sure I can manage. Just keep calm and carry on!"

_(Feels so wierd constantly mentioning his accent. But it's kind of fun!__)_


	6. Chapter 6

_(A very big thanks to Witchy Bee and EggplantWitch for the reviews! Especially the advice to pace the chapter uploading - I think I'll update each friday - sound okay? :) I really appreciate feedback and constructive criticism, so thanks!_

_UPDATE: Mega thanks, I fixed that incredibly embarasing mistake. Sorry about that.)_

_**Last Round of Canasta**_

Doug glanced up from the computer at Cave Johnson. He was lying prone on a narrow table in the centre of the room, a proud smile on his face as the scientists injected small chips into his scalp, so many that his head began to resemble an orange clove pomander. Caroline Rand stood over him, her eyes wide. Her mouth was moving, but Doug couldn't hear her over the babble of his frantic colleagues. He swallowed and returned to his work. Everything appeared to be in order, but that was of little comfort. After all, everything had looked fine during the last three operations.

Dr Tremblay, who had been pacing the room making last-minute checks, moved over to Doug.

"How does it look to you, Doug?"

"Technically, it all seems fine. But that's what worries me. We're going about it pretty much identically to the last few times. There has to be something we're missing."

"We could really do with some more time. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem Mr. Johnson will be able to wait any longer."

An emergency response associate pushed her way through the crowd, nearly kicking Rattmann's chair out from under him. She grabbed Tremblay's shirt to steady herself before diving back into the crowd. Doug turned to face the associate, but she had already melted back into the sea of humanity. Tremblay swore and straightened his shirt collar.

"Honestly, this place is chaos. Whose idea was it to let all these associates in here?"

"Miss Rand's. She thought they could offer suggestions if we get stuck," Doug said, raising an eyebrow and shrugging.

"I must have missed that announcement."

Rattmann rubbed his hands together and looked around. The room itself was located just beneath GLaDOS' chamber, and had roughly the same dimensions; however, it also contained much of the computer's vital parts. The core into which Cave's mind would be downloaded rested on a stand behind the CEO's head, ready to be plugged into the mainframe as soon as it received the data from the man's mind. The place had been designed to comfortably fit most of the Genetic Lifeform scientists in, but with the addition of the assistants, it had quickly become overcrowded.

"Some time today would be great, lab boys!" Cave said.

"Of course, sir," Tremblay said, hurrying across to him. "I'd say we'll be ready in just a minute or two! Excuse me, Miss Rand, I need to get to that monitor over there, could you step aside?" he asked, gesturing to a screen attached to the side of the bed. Caroline retreated to the other end of the room, but before the doctor could set up the life sign monitor, Cave interjected.

"Is Dr Rattmann here?" he asked.

"Yes, just by the computers, monitoring the core," Tremblay said. The question had caught him by surprise; Cave hardly ever referred to his scientists by name.

"And this monitor… It's just for standard stuff, huh? Heart beat, making sure the old noodle hasn't fried? He's qualified to handle it, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, anyone with half a brain could do it."

"Let him do it. You can take over... doing whatever it is he's doing."

"Of course, but…"

"Get him over here!"

Tremblay opened his mouth to object further, but decided against it and backed away, brow furrowed.

"Hello, Doug," Cave said as Rattmann approached his side.

"Mr. Johnson," he said, nodding.

"It's been a long time since we last talked. A shame, am I right?"

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Hang on there, kiddo. _I'm _not the one who got their head in such a twist. Speaking of which, you're not doing a very good job of backing up your point. You still work here after all, despite how much Aperture's insulted you."

"You know I don't have much of a choice."

"No one will take a man of your mental state?"

Rattmann sighed and focused on the monitor. At that moment, the screen was blank. Glancing up, he saw that a few electrodes had yet to be placed on Cave. One of the nurses, seeing the irritation in his face, rushed over and placed the last of the adhesive pads on the dying CEO, smiling apologetically to Doug. He barely looked at her. He was desperate to get the procedure over as quickly as possible, and it seemed like the entire workforce was out to hinder him.

"You seem tense, Doug," Cave said, watching him closely. "Relax a little, savour the moment; you're about to make history."

Doug kept his eyes on the monitor, refusing to make eye-contact with Cave. His face was dimly reflected on the surface, and, to his embarrassment, he noticed his left eye had started to twitch.

"Can we hurry up, please?" he said to no-one in particular. As if in reply, the screen lit up, the bright green points of data cutting through his image. He hurriedly ran a finger over the lines, checking each with mechanical efficiency. Upon reaching the heart rate, however, he faltered.

"Dr Tremblay, I think you should take a look at this."

With a sigh, Tremblay peered at the screen.

"Going fast isn't it?" he said, looking up at Doug blankly.

"Lunar poisoning, Doug. It does that to you," Cave said.

"Sirs, you're forgetting how much stress this operation puts on the heart. I'm not sure you can take the strain in your condition, Mr. Johnson."

"I couldn't care less, my boy. Just get me in there before I die."

"With all due respect, sir, I wouldn't be surprised if you kicked the bucket before we got a chance to."

Caroline looked up from the far end of the room, her mouth a perfect circle. Even Cave was rendered speechless for a moment, but the grin soon returned to his face.

"Well, give it your best shot. Science waits for no man, right?"

"Whatever you say, Mr. Johnson," Tremblay said. "Right, let's get started. Begin initial scans."

A giant fan built into the ceiling started up, sending a rush of cold air down into the room, as the jovial male announcer's voice chimed over the speakers.

"Mechanical overheating safeguard activated. And remember, a balanced temperature is a vital part of remaining calm and collected in an atmosphere of extreme pressure and potential bloodguilt. Scans initiated; accessing limbic system. Scanning hippocampus, hypothalamus… Scanning amygdale, thalamus... Computer capacity parameters set. Ready to download."

"This is it," Cave said, eyes shining like coins. Five nurses, carrying a metallic hood between them, gathered around him and lowered the quarter-sphere around his head. After a few minutes of preparation, they stepped back.

"Neural reader is now active," the announcer said. "Subject: Johnson, Cave; are you ready to begin the procedure?"

"You bet!"

"Scientists; are…"

"Yes, get on with it!" Tremblay said.

"Even ground has been found. Working!"

A light emanated from the hood as the various banks of machinery started humming. For a minute, nothing seemed to happen.

Then Cave gave an ear-splitting scream. Caroline took an involuntary step back and, despite having heard similarly agonized cries during the previous procedures, Doug did too.

"The enrichment center would like to thank you for helping the cause of science, and ensures you that, in the case of death, we will not force your family to undergo a lengthy, and costly, legal battle."

"Shut it down! _Abort now!" _Caroline said. Cave was still hollering, but the word 'don't' was faintly distinguishable.

"This is completely normal, Ma'am!" a nurse assured her, raising her voice to be heard above the din. In the background, the voice of the announcer continued to give it's lecture about the merits of a relaxing work atmosphere.

Doug clenched his eyes shut and tried to block out the crescendo of sound. Without intending to, he found himself remembering his youth, when the voices had first started haunting his brain. He could see himself cowering beneath the bed in his old room, could remember desperately screaming for Johnson to help him.

"Warning! Brain activity is highly erratic. Attempting to compensate…"

"Something's wrong," Caroline said, casting glances at the apparatus that filled the room.

Doug forced himself to open his eyes and scanned the screen.

"We're losing him," he said, shaking his head.

"Keep at it; we've barely scratched the surface," Tremblay said. He turned to the group of scientists who had congregated around one of the computers.

"Quick, find out what's wrong," he told them.

"Without halting the procedure to test…" one of them began.

"To hell with that, take an educated guess!"

The scientists turned to each other and started to mumble amongst themselves. A few of them mentioned tumors, though their shifty eyes revealed their uncertainty.

"Warning; Traces of hardened fluorescent calcium detected in neural network," said the announcer.

"We haven't used that stuff in years," Tremblay said. "Besides, why would Mr. Johnson have it in his system? We only used it on expendable test subjects."

"He... He had wanted to see how it tasted," Caroline said quietly.

"Sir, we have to stop the procedure." Doug said. "The calcium may be dormant now, but with this amount of radiation, his frontal lobe could vitrify any moment."

"Damn it all. Somebody get that hood off him!"

Rattmann stepped back as the nurses rushed forward to shut down the machinery. Caroline ran to Cave's side and held one of his gnarled hands in her own. His face shone a sickly gray in the pale light, sweat continuing to drip down from his forehead.

"No, put it back! Don't stop," Cave said between gasps. The nurses glanced at each other and moved to lower it again.

"What are you doing? Take it away!" Caroline said. She looked back down at Cave, tightening her grip on his hand. "Please, sir, you've got to be reasonable!"

"I'm going in that computer, Caroline! Black Mesa is going down in flames!"

Caroline dropped his arm and glared at Tremblay.

"Is this your idea of loyalty? Letting him kill himself?"

"It's his decision," he said, as Cave's screams filled the room once again. Caroline stormed over to him, fists clenched.

"This whole project's yours as much as it is his. Who cares how many people die as long as you get your name in the history books?"

"Please calm down, Miss Rand. If you wish to be escorted out…"

"Don't even try it."

Four minutes passed by, each one seeming to last longer then the previous. The announcer occasionally reminded them of the risks of continuing, but no-one made a move to act on the warnings.

"Calculated time until heart failure: one minute. Current brain data insufficient for successful transfer."

"What does that mean?" Caroline asked. Her mind was in such a whirl that she was finding it difficult to pay attention to her surroundings.

"We won't be able to put his personality into the computer," Tremblay said. "We've got some of his mannerisms and thought patterns, but it's practically nothing. I think the calcium is interfering with the scans - clogging up his brain, making it harder to map."

"Is that even possible?"

"Hey, why not? Something's slowing it down, and that's the best explanation I can whip up without further research. During the last three operations, it only took ten minutes. At this rate…"

"Alright, I don't want to hear any more."

"Warning; complete anatomical failure imminent. Automatic shutdown."

With that, the fan's speed gradually lessened, and the lights on the hood went out. The nurses lifted it up and deposited it in a corner of the room, like pallbearers taking a coffin to the burial.

Rattmann watched as Cave's heart rate dropped. The time between each beat gradually increased. He shut the machine off and stepped back, feeling like the machine had just been displaying his own heartbeat.

"Failure," Cave muttered. His voice was barely comprehensible. "A complete… Damn it." He turned his head towards Doug.

"You call this poetic justice, I suppose. He who lives by testing dies by testing."

"Mr. Johnson…"

"You're really going to stay with 'mister'? Even now?"

Doug looked around. All eyes were fixed on Johnson. Even though he knew that was to be expected, he still felt flicker of resentment towards them. There were many things he needed to say to Cave, things he didn't want them to hear.

"No matter how much you want to hear it, I'm not going to say it. Not here_,_" he whispered, leaning in closer to ensure no one heard.

"Heh, should have known. Bearing grudges runs in our family, you know."

Doug faltered, swallowing hard, before mouthing the word 'uncle'.

Cave gave a small nod and returned to staring at the ceiling.

"Is Tremblay there?" he asked.

"Right here, sir," Tremblay said, as he and Caroline moved closer.

"Remember what I said. Caroline's going to run this place. Just don't put her in the system until this brain mapping business is perfected."

Caroline bit her lip. This was her only chance to object, yet it was also the most inappropriate time imaginable.

"Actually, sir, while I am flattered you'd offer me such a privilege, I have to refuse," Caroline said. Doug noticed tears had begun spilling down her cheeks, and admired how, despite this, she managed to keep herself perfectly composed.

"Not an offer," Cave said, wheezing with each word. "Don't worry; the lab boys, they'll bring the rate of danger down to acceptable levels."

"But sir, I don't want this."

"Come on, Caroline, where's that sense of adventure?"

"No, listen to me. Sir, I do not want this. Sir? Please, open your eyes; I can't do it. This whole project has stepped over the line."

"What the hell do you mean?" Cave said, chest heaving with the effort of raising his voice. "It's still science! Do you think I'd be where I am today if I'd carried on making nice, safe little shower curtains, never injecting mercury into the sheeting?"

Caroline stepped closer to the operating table to hide her trembling legs.

"Please, I'll do anything else you want me to. I'll rebuild the Borealis with the money from my own pocket, I'll frame Black Mesa for conducting inhuman experiments, anything, just don't make me do this."

She gingerly placed a hand on his forehead.

"There are plenty of worse ways to die," he said at last, his voice little more then a whistle.

Doug felt his skin creep. When he had been young, Doug had looked up to Cave, respected him more then he'd realized. Even after he had cut contact with him over their differing views on the ethics of human testing, he had always associated Cave with success and strength. Seeing him in such a state, lying there like a shrunken mummy, felt surreal.

The announcer spoke again, his voice noticeably more subdued.

"Subject has become obsolete."

_(Yeah, I have no idea how fluorescent calcium works. Ah, imaginary science. Sorry if this all seems rather... how you say... 'convenient', far-fetched. Also __I know my take on the infamous '"Sir I don't want this" scene is WAY less graphic then how it was probably meant to be, but I don't write scary well – sorry!_

_(If you listen really closely to Doug's mumbling in chamber 17, it *sounds* like he says 'uncle Johnson' at one point – I know this is my brain forming words out of unintelligible noise, but I just fell in __love with the theory so much that I had to use it. Again, apologies.)_


	7. Chapter 7

_(Not a lot of real progression in this chapter, just a lot of setting up... Still feel a bit uncertain with Tremblay's characterization. I was going for a General Buck Turgidson mixed with annoying 'go-getter team player' yet maliciously manipulative boss.)_

_**A Change of Plans**_

Caroline ran her fingertips along the edge of the report. The autopsy went into excruciating detail. Weakened heart due to lunar and mercury poisoning, neural interference caused by fluorescent calcium, lungs lined with asbestos dust. The good old days of Aperture had caught up with a vengeance.

She carefully folded the paper into a triangle, set it down beside her teacup, and clicked the play button on the tape player she kept under the desk. Soothing jazz music filled Cave's office as she let herself sink deeper into the leather chair. Try as she might, though, she just couldn't stop her mind from being continually drawn back to the hours before Cave's death.

Her chest had tightened as the voice had announced the discovery of hardened calcium in Johnson's system. Surely the scientists, once they realized the danger he was in, would give up on the procedure? Yes, Cave would still die days, maybe hours later, but it would be better then an empty eternity inside a computer. And besides, who could tell what kind of damage he might have caused inside the facility. But no, it was against their nature to give up without a fight. Why hadn't she realized Cave and the lab boys would decide to soldier on with the procedure regardless of the risks?

"He would have died anyway. It was inevitable," she told herself. "The report said it. Even without the calcium, they wouldn't have been able to get his personality downloaded in time."

She repeated it to herself for the next few minutes as she waited for Tremblay to arrive, trying reassuring herself. By the time he came, she had nearly lost herself in the loop.

"You wanted to see me, Miss Rand?" he asked as he entered the office.

"Yes, Doctor. Please take a seat," she said, fumbling for the power switch on the tape player.

Tremblay seated himself opposite her and glanced around the room.

"I see you haven't redecorated."

"Oh, no. I wanted to keep it just as it had been when Mr. Johnson was still with us."

"Of course you did," Tremblay said, nodding sagely. "And before we begin, may I take this opportunity to say what a wonderful eulogy you gave yesterday. We all have the greatest faith in your leadership."

"Well, thank you, Doctor," Caroline said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get down to business?"

"By all means."

"As you know, Aperture Science is no longer as prosperous as it was in the Innovator days. Aperture Laboratories products aren't selling anymore - quite understandably, considering the hubbub with the court cases and senate hearings."

"Oh, I'm not the man to ask about finances," Tremblay said, waving a hand through the air absently.

"That's not what I want to talk to you about. You see, I've decided to cut a few of our projects. The GLaDOS included."

For a moment, Tremblay was silent. He nodded and folded his arms.

"I see, Miss Rand."

Caroline sighed.

"I know what you're thinking Doctor, but I promise you it's not that. It's not the only thing that will be going. All unnecessary, overly-expensive or seemingly fruitless ideas will be dissolved. That way our remaining funds can be used to fuel projects with potential. For example, what about the portal device? I think we're underestimating the possibilities. Imagine how it would revolutionize military operations, how it would change the lives of the disabled and elderly."

"And you don't think brain mapping has potential?"

"Of course it has. I simply think that, judging from your previous experiments, our current level of technological development is too low to attempt such a feat."

"That's why we must continue in our research. Before, we were rushed; everyone was in a panic. If we'd had more time, it would have been a triumph."

"But it wasn't. In these economically challenging times, we can't afford to pursue projects that won't bear definite results. Three people severely damaged, our founder departed; it's not an impressive record. Mr. Johnson may have been willing to let such negligence pass, but I won't."

"Respectfully, Miss Rand, I believe you may be emotionally compromised. I admit that Johnson's last wish was quite shocking."

"As I believe I've mentioned previously, that has nothing to do with it."

"I know that I would be honored if he had chosen me."

"Why not jump into the computer yourself, then?"

Tremblay clasped his hands together and leaned on the desk.

"Miss Rand, I apologize. I understand you're having to bear a lot of responsibility right now. I'm not trying to shame you; I just want you to appreciate how important this was to Mr. Johnson. He cared deeply for you. So much so that he even offered you immortality. I really don't see why this troubles you so much. You could bring glory to Aperture, and to Cave's memory. And just imagine what it would be like for you! A whole new frontier is waiting, one you could lead."

"I'm not in the mood for a philosophical debate, but I will tell you that the idea of watching everyone I know die isn't a pleasant one."

"If it became too distressing, we could erase your emotional attachment sub-routines."

"That reminds me of another thing; what would life as a machine amount to? Running tests, maintaining the building, I know. But I'd be sacrificing everything. Real emotions; my sense of smell, hearing, feeling, seeing, tasting; the ability to go where I please… It may surprise you, but I enjoy being a human."

"It's true you couldn't 'move' as such. But hell, we've _nailed_ the five senses. Well, maybe not taste, but you don't really need that, do you? Not like your going to be eating a cake or anything. And we've made great strides forward in the emotions department."

"You mean the personality constructs? They are impressive, but if that's the only amount of emotion you can get, well…"

"They are experiments. If we're making a personality construct, we deliberately take only a minimal amount of personality and emotion during the brain mapping; after all, they'll never be used for anything vital. The GLaDOS is a different kettle of fish altogether, and I'm positive we can give you a full spread of emotion. Your mind would become merged with that of an artificial intelligence, the Chassis, and as such, feeling things won't be quite the same; but that's only a small detail. You must think of the bigger picture."

Caroline shook her head and brushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry Dr Tremblay, but I will not do it."

"But it was Mr. Johnson's dying wish."

"Indeed. I was too hasty in proposing to stop the project altogether. I see that now. You may find another person who is _willing _to become the GLaDOS. I will leave it up to you and your team to decide who. But I am having nothing more to do with it."

"We could find a way to make the procedure safe. Or at least haggle the survival rate up to fifty percent. There has to be a way. Then you could continue as a human."

"I may not be as savvy about this as you are, Doctor, but I know enough to realize that won't happen. I may not be as ill as Mr. Johnson was, but I subjected myself to the same amount of harmful materials while watching over experiments. I'm an old woman, and I won't survive your operation. Find someone else, Doctor."

Tremblay laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, brow furrowed.

"The choice is yours, of course," he said. There was a pause. Caroline shuffled in her chair.

"While you're here, I want to ask you something. Have there been any irregularities with the filing system?" she asked.

"There has been a slight delay in the distribution of certain documents," he said. "We're a little behind on the paperwork after what happened. Everything should be back to normal soon enough."

"Good. The girl I brought in for testing has not yet heard anything. She was beginning to worry that she had been turned down. She's already got a snapped wrist thanks to a certain test associate; I wouldn't want to upset her further."

"Oh, there's not much danger of that. I think it's safe to say we'll take anyone we can get. I can look into it for you, if you want."

"If you would, thank you."

Tremblay nodded.

"Anything else?"

"I think that is all."

Tremblay stood up and placed a hand on the doorknob.

"Bear this in mind, Dr Tremblay," Caroline said. "Nothing you can do will make me change my mind."

He smiled and stepped out into the corridor.

"No need to remind me, Miss Rand. We're all tense after the recent events. I'm sure that, before long, everything shall be just as it should be."

_(Emotional compromise? Emotional sub-routines? …Is it a bit obvious I'm a trekkie? :V)_


	8. Chapter 8

_(Early new chapter – normal schedule shall resume next week. Also, I only just managed to check out the new Perpetual Testing Initiative this week – no one tells me anything anymore! Needless to say, (stop reading here if you don't want to spoil) I cried a single tear of joy upon hearing 'Junior Claims Representative' Cave come out with the words 'our president, that creep, Doug Rattmann.' So much happiness…)_

_**Paint, Pastry and Pipettes**_

Doug absent-mindedly scanned a page of his Victorian poetry book, none of the words truly registering in his brain. As always, he was the sole occupant of his gallery. Indeed, he had been visited by so few people that he could remember each customer individually. The lack of interest didn't surprise him; the only artwork on display was a few of his own bizarre paintings that his counselor had suggested might help him cope with the symptoms of his illness. Over the years a few local artists had exhibited with him, but once they realized they weren't going to sell anything, they had lost heart and taken back their material.

The only reason he continued to waste money keeping it open was that it was the only place where he could escape the hectic noise of his life. The pubs and cafés were overcrowded, and he hated returning to his own poorly-kept house, where the neighbors could be heard through the walls. At his gallery there was tranquility.

It was the day after his uncle's funeral, and he still felt drained by the experience. The sky had been gray, with chilly winds that made the skin sting. It was the kind of cliché Doug would have found humourous under different circumstances. A few respected men from the scientific community had shown up, but the overall attendance had been disappointing. Caroline Rand had given a rather emotional speech about Cave's achievements, but apart from that, Doug could tell that most everyone was eager to get the funeral over and done with. As the ground had swallowed up the coffin, he'd felt a strange kind of unease, a vulnerability, like he had suddenly regressed to childhood.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by the sound of the bell on the front door clanging. Snapping the book shut, he sat up and mimed filling out paperwork. If this really was a customer, he wanted to make sure he appeared professional.

"'Ello! Just me," someone called out. Recognizing the chipper voice as Wheatley's, Doug sighed and dropped his pencil.

"Hello, Mr. Pendleton."

Wheatley appeared from around the corner and walked up to Doug's desk. For a while he stood there, smiling airily.

"Can… I help you with anything?" Doug asked at last.

"No, just mooching. Mental reinvigoration, you see. I have to write a letter to Miss Rand's daughter, tell her she's been turned down."

"What did she do?"

"Well, I thought she was fine. Just dandy - I put that in the report. She hurt her wrist, but it was nothing I couldn't take care of - not worth turning her down for, certainly. But Mr. Fane insisted on watching the tapes himself - apparently I'm not_ trustworthy - _and he thought she was too stubborn."

Doug laughed.

"Stubborn?"

"Yep. I think the right way to beat this one test was to give up after acknowledging the danger. Like that 'Courage is not the Absence of Fear' poster they have everywhere. But, well, off she went. Beat the whole thing in a few minutes. She's a danger to herself, that one. I'm not the best at writing, though. I want to come across as sensitive, you know? So I thought looking at some art would get the old inspiration pumping. Then I remembered hearing someone mention your gallery and, well, here I am."

He turned and examined the nearest painting. It was a piece Doug had painted recently, a collage of scenes depicting the various ways in which he had seen test subjects die. Black figures stood out clearly from the pale gray background, with mingling streams of blue, orange and red weaving between them. He'd gone to great lengths to ensure the figures' faces were exactly as they had looked at the moment of their deaths.

"Um, well… It's very busy," Wheatley said, taking a step back. "Not the kind of thing you'd want in the living-room. Oh, but it's good. Sorry, that slipped out. Honestly, very nice."

"Oh, don't bother with politeness. Critiques make the man. Besides, I paint for me, not for other people. You might want to look somewhere else."

"No, this is interesting. It's more like creative influence material."

"I still can't see how this is connected with letter writing," Doug said, but Wheatley had already become distracted by another picture further down the room. Doug stood up and joined him in front of the frame. It was of the seemingly ramshackle shed in the middle of the enrichment center's wheat field. Not many people knew of it, for it was an emergency exit out of the GLaDOS room. The elevator which travelled to it resided, by default, slightly above the abandoned bowels of Aperture, and could only be called from the chamber. Wheatley, however, showed little interest in the shack.

"Crop fields. My parent's house was right next to one, a wheat field; it's where they got my name from. I used to slip under the fence and spend hours in there. Drove the farmers barmy, I can tell you."

"Try touching it."

Wheatley cautiously extended a finger. The second it touched the surface, it slipped off. He stumbled forward slightly.

"Is that propulsion gel?"

"Got it in one."

"I've never seen anyone use it this way, that's for sure. How did you convince them to let you have some?"

"I didn't. I thought it would be interesting to see if you could paint with it, so I took some. Not too much, though. It certainly won't be missed."

"But still! I mean, I thought you were one of the senior scientists. Surely someone in your position should be really strict when it comes to regulations."

"I'll be more then happy to go along with the rules as soon as they embrace my viewpoints."

Wheatley glanced sideways at him, puzzlement furrowing his brow.

"Why's that?"

"Oh, it's not interesting."

Wheatley nodded and went back to staring at the picture. After barely ten seconds, he quickly snapped back.

"Okay, if you don't want to say, that's fine. But if you would tell me that would be great, because when Mr. Fane starts asking why I haven't written anything, I can say that you were nattering on to me and I couldn't get away."

"Passing the buck?" Doug said quietly, smiling.

"Huh?"

"Forget about it. You're not going to spread it around like you did with Rand's story?"

"Never! Besides, I didn't tell anyone else about that," he added, twisting his arms behind his back.

"Alright. Anyway, it's simple enough. Science and I have never been comfortable bedfellows. Much too sterile for my liking. No, I wanted to do something more creative when I was young; I wanted to be a chef, to be specific."

"What kind?" Wheatley asked. His voice sounded urgent. Rattmann was reminded of a child tensely asking questions as someone read them a story.

"Desserts, mostly, and pastries- a man of all things sweet. I'd never eat a cake if it wasn't decorated up to my standards; and let me tell you, I had _high _standards. Sometimes I would make experimental recipes with goodness knows what in them. My father was sick for a week after eating one, thinking it was something mother had made."

"Why did you give up on it?"

"Because of… someone. There was a man who I respected deeply, probably more then I did my own father. He wanted me to pursue a scientific career. Of course, it was still my choice; but he had always helped me to cope with my illness."

"You're ill?"

Doug ignored the question and continued.

"I ended up taking some courses. It's hard to persist with things you're not interested in, but I stuck to it and finally got a job in Aperture. And for a while, things seemed to be looking up. Aperture's _unique _take on protocols was exciting. All the outlandish projects bombarded my senses."

He smiled as he spoke, the memory of those early days returning like water flowing from open floodgates.

"Then, inevitably, I heard more about human testing - things I didn't believe at first. So I went to the man who had wanted me to become a scientist and asked him if it was true. He told me straight - people were dying in the experiments. He wasn't ashamed. Didn't even try to sound concerned."

Doug shrugged.

"It was downhill from there. I wanted to quit and follow my original plan, but it was too late by then. I'm good at what I do, and it was too much trouble to go back and start a whole new career. So I just bury my feet."

"What happened to the man?"

"He's dead. By the time he died, though, the remaining shreds of feeling I had for him had died out. After the argument, I cut off all contact. I still heard his damn voice everyday, but for the most part I managed to ignore it. In retrospect, it was foolish of me, sulking like a child. But learning that a person you had once respected is- there's no other word for it- a murderer… And that he'd wanted me to become one as well. I'd given him my life; for what?"

Wheatley nodded.

"Mr. Johnson was the man, wasn't he?"

Doug started; he was already feeling shaken up from relating the story, and seeing Wheatley standing there with a collected look on his face, showing remarkable observance, was only adding to the queerness.

"How did you…"

Seeing Doug's face, Wheatley scratched the back of his head and looked down.

"Sorry, that was stupid. There's some rumor that you were calling Mr. Johnson your uncle when he was dying. I should have known it was nonsense. Can you forget I said that?"

"Yes," Doug said, returning to the desk. Wheatley shuffled from foot to foot.

"So, have you got any inspiration?" Doug asked, feeling it was up to him to bridge the gap that had formed.

"Um, yeah. I might go ahead and write it now. Thanks for your time, sir," he said. He kept his eyes on the floor as he left.

Rattmann leant his head back until it hit the wall behind his chair with a thud.

"Nice one, Doug," he muttered to himself. Reaching into the half-open cabinet below his desk, he pulled out a bottle of ziaprazidone and shook two tablets out onto the palm of his hand. Swallowing them dry, he swiveled his chair to face the painting of the test subjects. After a moment of thought, he pulled a can of paint up off the floor and, taking a thick brush, walked over to it. Scooping a large glob of the red liquid with the bristles, he began to smear it over the canvas. For the next few minutes he busied himself scraping it fiercely into satisfying shapes.

Half an hour later, he took a step back to inspect his work. A face, faintly recognizable as Cave Johnson's, stood out from the chaos behind it. The blistered black paint underneath the fresh red created an almost scab-like quality.

Along the top, Doug wrote, 'Another Idol'.


	9. Chapter 9

**__**_(Back on course. Nearly onto two-digit numbers, I see. Hurrah.)_

_**Classified Information**_

Doug leaned against the wall as the last of the scientists squeezed into the cramped room. He was growing impatient; everyone seemed to be deliberately taking their time, despite Tremblay describing the meeting as an urgent one. Looking around, he noticed that the invited, though all members of the GLaDOS project, were quite high up in the company food chain, and, to pass the time, started to dwell disconsolately on the privileges that seemed to come with high status.

Before long, Tremblay himself arrived, his face blank. A troop of men Doug recognized as the night-shift security guards accompanied him. Everyone watched in silence as they moved to the front of the room. Tremblay folded his arms behind his back and nodded to the men, who swiftly searched the room.

"No bugs. You're safe to start," said one of the guards.

"Ah, thank you," Tremblay said with a nod. "I apologize to you all; very abrupt, I know. But what I have to say is important. Each of you has been chosen by me, personally, for this job. You are the people I believe I can trust. As I'm sure you can tell by the presence these men," he paused to indicate the guards with a wave of his hand, "what I want to discuss cannot leave this room. That's why we've come here. It's one of the only places where we won't be watched."

He paused, then, when no-one had interrupted, he continued.

"Well, now we understand each other. Yesterday, Miss Caroline Rand summoned me to her office and informed me she was putting an end to the GLaDOS initiative."

There were a few gasps from the audience. Doug's heart leapt and he only just managed to restrain from laughing. Finally, he'd have an excuse to escape this hell.

Tremblay held up his hand in a request for quiet.

"Hold on now, there's nothing to worry about! By the end of our conversation, she had granted us permission to continue."

Doug slumped back, the disappointment hitting him like a brick.

"However," Tremblay said, "during my attempt to make her reconsider, we strayed onto the subject of Mr. Johnson's final words. If you haven't heard, he enforced a message he had already given us, namely, to put Rand in the machine if he died. And boy, is she ever determined to resist. It surprised me. While Mr. Johnson was alive, she would wait on him hand and foot. Whatever he wanted, she would do anything to get."

"Well, it's not the same as just asking for a coffee," Doug said.

"True, but listen to this; in the end, she told me to find another person to become the machine."

He stopped again and looked around the room, focusing on each person individually one after the other. When he found nothing but stares, he sighed.

"I don't wish to compare Aperture Science to some sentimental little family business, but I think it's safe to say that we've built this place on ideals. We start our research from scratch, instead on leaning lazily on what the masses consider to be solid facts. We're not afraid to dive head first into new areas of science that others consider too dangerous. And every employee - yes, every one of us in this very room - is willing to make sacrifices. We've all committed ourselves to lives of science, and are ready to do anything to advance our research. Miss Rand now runs this facility. Does this give her the right to refuse us? To cover her ears when called to action? As our leader, it's her job to set the example. Mr. Johnson died, giving his life for what he believed in."

Doug rolled his eyes. _  
_

"Also, consider the morals," Tremblay said, holding out a hand. "A dying man uses his last breath to tell us that he wants her to do this. She will live forever, and, while her functions may be limited at first, as we learn more and progress, she will become more like the human she once was. A golden future. Instead, she shows gross disrespect, and denies his wishes because of her own selfish cowardice." His calm front had gradually slipped, and his face was now slightly flushed, eyes shining.

Near the front, a small woman stepped forward.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, Dr Chambers?"

"If I'm not mistaken, Miss Rand recently brought an orphan in for testing. Maybe she is still caring for her. You can't expect her to leave a defenseless child alone."

"A very noble sentiment, Doctor," Tremblay said, calming down again. "I did think of the child. Only yesterday, I found out that Mr. Fane had turned her down. But really, she's no excuse. She's sixteen, old enough to care for herself. I also took the liberty of checking her file. It states, quite clearly, that she and Rand have no sort of connection, and that Rand was merely dropping the girl off."

"Sorry, sir, but I'd like to examine that for myself," she said, eyeing the protruding veins appearing on Tremblay's neck.

"As I have stated, we can't let anyone else know this meeting is taking place. Miss Rand's already on edge; if she finds out anyone working on GLaDOS is trying to get information on her connections, she'll become suspicious. And I'm not prepared to let anyone else in on this."

"You can still get the file. Ask Wheatley Pendleton to bring it down. He's a test associate - it will look quite normal for him to be taking subject files out. Plus, he won't ask any questions."

"Are you sure?"

"Completely. I know him well - the man's an idiot."

Dr Tremblay faltered for a second, and then turned to one of his men.

"Go and call the associate department and get him to bring it down."

With a nod, the guard rushed out the room. Tremblay glared at Chambers. She watched the guard leave before turning to face the doctor, her eyebrows arched. He shook his head.

"It would seem the trust isn't mutual. I'm disappointed in myself."

One of the guards took a step in her direction. She scooted back, the anger on her face evaporating.

"I never said anything against you, sir," she said, holding her hands up. "I apology sincerely if it seemed like that! Why, I'm with you all the way, truthfully! As soon as I see the paper, I'll be convinced. There's no need for any disturbance."

"You're quite right, we don't want to make a scene. However, please bear in mind that I'm paying these gentlemen a substantial sum. They'd be more then happy to visit you after hours."

Chambers nodded furiously as she tried to edge back into the middle of the huddled scientists.

After a few minutes, during which no-one spoke, Wheatley arrived bearing a buff folder. He smiled as he entered and presented the folder to Tremblay, who opened it and held it up for all to see. He then passed it to Chambers.

"Have a look, all of you. Mr. Pendleton, you can guarantee this isn't a forgery, can't you?"

"Nope! I mean, yes, I can, that is, this isn't a forgery."

Doug peered over the shoulders of his colleagues as the file was handed around. Finally it came to him. He glanced at the general information page;

_Surname: redacted._

_Birth Parents: unknown._

_Guardian: unknown._

_Relatives: unknown._

He continued to read the text, searching for evidence of some relation. Looking up, he saw Wheatley standing close to the door, and edged over to him.

"I thought you said Chell was her daughter?" he whispered.

"Whose?"

"Caroline Rand's."

"Well, yes. She is," Wheatley said, not bothering to lower his voice. A few people glanced at them. Doug grimaced and handed the file to a nearby woman. Once the group was distracted, he continued.

"Quiet down. Look, is Chell her real daughter?"

"Of course," Wheatley said, whispering himself now. The sudden change in atmosphere had made him visibly nervous; his eyes grew wider, and he twisted his fingers together as if trying to wield a complex finger puppet.

"Then why was this file edited so much?" Doug asked.

"Miss Rand said that someone might rig the tests if they knew Chell was her daughter."

"Isn't that essentially what you were doing, though? Watching over her?"

"Yes, but that was just to stop her getting hurt. Miss Rand thought someone might try to make her results look better, in case she got cross with our department, or something. And she was worried that some busybody would see the girl testing and set social services on her. Huh, imagine that - an Aperture employee calling social services! That kind of stuff never happens in real life, right?"

"Right, that's fine. Just don't tell anyone else Chell is her biological child. The only thing that's stopping Tremblay using her to make Rand comply is the belief that they aren't connected."

"Are you saying Dr Tremblay would threaten her?"

"Yes!" Doug said through gritted teeth.

"But… But surely it will be easy enough for him to find out who she really is?" Wheatley said.

Tremblay, who was standing nearby waiting to reclaim the file, looked across at them.

"Are you still here, Mr. Pendleton? What was that you said?"

Everyone in the room turned.

"Nothing at all, sir! Not a word," Pendleton said. Doug sighed with relief as the test associate continued.

"You know, you all look quite busy," Wheatley said. "Shall I just grab the file and get out of your way?"

"Manners, Mr. Pendleton. I asked you a question," Tremblay said. The security guards had formed a barricade around the door. Wheatley shot a desperate look at Doug, who shook his head slowly, willing him to keep silent.

"Dr Rattmann was just saying… how annoyed he was that Miss Rand isn't related to the girl."

Doug nodded his head an inch. There was still a chance this whole event would blow over.

Tremblay glanced to the side, and some of his men stepped back, but one of them continued to advance, his face reminiscent of a bulldog straining on its lead.

"You don't sound so certain," the guard said. "I've dealt with liars before; no matter how good they are, I can find them. It's just intuition. And might I add that you're not a particularly good liar."

Wheatley edged away as the guard clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"So?"

Wheatley clenched his eyes shut.

"Okay, okay! Miss Rand had told me that Chell is her real daughter. I was just telling Dr Rattmann. I have no idea what's going on - if anything's going wrong, it's not my fault!"

Doug slapped his palm to his face.

"Are you sure about that?" Tremblay asked. Although he sounded surprised, a glimmer of excitement appeared in his eyes.

Wheatley hung his head slightly.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said quietly. "She told me so that I'd appreciate how important it was to keep Chell safe."

"Seems like she chose the wrong person," Doug said under his breath.

Tremblay handed the file back to Wheatley with a smile and waved the guards away from the door.

"Well, thank you for helping us straighten that out, Mr. Pendleton. Sorry for keeping you; I suppose you have jobs that need attending to."

"What are you going to do?" Wheatley asked as Tremblay shooed him through the door.

"I assure you, it's all completely routine. We're just concerned about the inaccuracies that have been cropping up in our system lately, that's all. It's nothing to be concerned about, lad."

"But…"

"Goodbye, Mr. Pendleton," Tremblay said as he closed the door and locked it. He returned to the front of the room, rubbing his hands together.

"Well! That changes things, doesn't it? We have some leverage now."

"How can you be sure he's telling the truth?" Doug asked. He knew it was a long-shot, but trying to dissuade Tremblay was the only thing he could do without arousing the man's suspicions.

"A man doesn't look that panicked unless he's admitting something big," said the dog-like guard.

"What if he's a good actor?"

"That guy, seriously?" Tremblay said, chuckling. "Doug, are you getting cold feet?"

"No, of course not."

"Well then, you should know there's nothing to worry about!"

Tremblay paused to survey his audience.

"Change of plans then, team. I trust none of you are going to object to this new situation?"

There was a general murmur of confirmation. Chambers glared down at the floor, but remained silent.

"Fantastic. Now that we know more about little Chell Rand, we can get started. And please do remember that although the number of guards is unimpressive at this immediate moment, there are plenty more of them just waiting to pay us a visit. Now, after looking at the file, you'll have noticed that Chell has failed her interview testing; I mentioned that before, I think. However, the key point is that, as far as I know, she hasn't been informed of it yet. Fane wasn't happy with the letter they'd prepared for her and is waiting for it to be re-written. I can arrange for the letter to be postponed, so we should move as quickly as we can. It would be best to get her here in the building itself, so I'll prepare a letter telling her she's been approved for testing. Then we can arrange a date for her to come in."

"What do you expect will happen then?" Dr Chambers asked. She had a disgusted scowl on her face, but her eyes were constantly flicking to the side where the guards still slinked around.

"First, I need to confirm this one last time; you are all a part of this now."

Everyone nodded.

"Alright. As much as I abhor using such primitive tactics, I think we shall have to hold the girl to ransom. Miss Rand stated in no uncertain terms that she would rather die then go into GLaDOS. It makes sense now; she didn't want to outlive her child. Once we have power over Chell, I'm sure she will be more then willing to undergo the operation to save her daughter."

"It seems like an undue risk when we could simply get someone else to become the GLaDOS," Dr Chambers said.

"Admittedly, yes. But we have a duty to fulfill. It was what Mr. Johnson wanted. Extreme as it may seem, I feel it is the only proper course of action. I shall be willing to suffer the consequences."

_(Full-life consequences, Tremblay?)_


	10. Chapter 10

_****(I apologise for the long gap between updates. I haven't had the time to double-check my writing, let alone upload it. Very sorry. I'm uploading two chapters today to try and make up for it, and hopefully things should return to normal now.)_

_**The Informant!**_

Chell carefully stepped behind the crackling discouragement beam and dropped the redirection cube into its path. She angled it until the red beam was perfectly aligned with the row of relays before placing her portals so that the laser hit the receptacle on the ceiling. A burst of sound from the machinery broke the silence, as if cheering for her victory over the test. With a sigh, she headed for the open door.

During her initial testing, she had felt like celebrating after every completed chamber; this time, however, she felt somewhat hollow. The solutions to these puzzles seemed almost laughably obvious, and she was craving a halfway decent challenge. It was almost like they were in a rush to get her somewhere.

Looking up, she peered into the next chamber. There was a yard of corridor before it opened up into a room the size of a modest garage. Her pace lessened as she caught sight of the thin cross-hatching lines of scarlet in the air. Although she had not personally encountered them before, she recognized them from the pamphlet of testing elements the facility had provided her with.

"Turrets," she said. The word had barely left her lips when the beams swiveled towards her, creating pinpoints of light that resembled splattered blood at her feet.

"Ooh, who's there?" they chorused, their voices high-pitched and childish. Chell stumbled back. She pressed her free hand tightly over her head, preparing herself for the storm of bullets.

A minute later, and still nothing had happened.

Lowering her arm and pointing the nozzle of the portal device forward, she crawled closer to the open area.

Turrets, standing in rows like choir singers, lined the left and right walls. Their beams focused on her as she cautiously stood up. She walked to the middle of the room, palms sweating so much that it was a struggle to keep a grip on the device.

A panel slid over the entrance she had come from, followed by a hiss and a crackle, similar to radio static. A gargled noise like a faulty cassette filled the room, gradually clearing into a man's voice.

"Good morning, tester," he said, words barely audible above the disturbance.

"Um, good morning?" Chell called out.

"Please do not be alarmed. The enrichment center is experiencing some technical difficulties. Things should return to normal in approximately an hour. I'm afraid we have no control over the test chambers, so please proceed carefully. We're trying to get you out of there. Try and find a safe spot for now."

"Are you a test associate?" she said, shouting at the top of her voice.

"There's no need to shout! And no, I'm an engineer. I've dealt with problems like this before. Sit tight, I'll get back to you soon."

She whistled as the announcer cut off and turned to the nearest of the white robots.

"Hello! I see you!" it said.

Chell considered the small tripod. She remembered the pamphlet had briefly mentioned that disabling them was possible, and hit one experimentally.

"I don't understand!" it said, dragging out the words. Chell backed away from it seconds before it fired two bullets towards the ceiling. Looking down, she saw that the legs of each turret had been fixed to the floor via thick metal braces - the engineer had clearly been in a hurry, judging from the shoddy workmanship.

Biting her lip in concentration, she began to scrutinize every inch of the room. None of the walls would accept portals, nor could she pry open any of the panels. The futility of situation did not deter her, however. She continued to search, wrinkling her nose at the faint smell of cordite.

* * *

A few miles away from the turret chamber, Fane switched off the microphone and leaned back on the wobbly office chair. A live feed from the chamber was playing on the screen in front of him, and he watched it with minimal interest.

"What does she think she's doing?" he said out loud as Chell circled the room, running her fingers along the edges of each panel. With an incredulous laugh, he picked up the receiver of the phone and connected himself through to Henry Tremblay's office. His mood had been sour all day, and watching the girl blundering about wasn't improving his disposition.

"Tremblay speaking."

"Fane. The girl's in the room. She's pacing like a caged animal, but I don't think she's frightened. Well, she smacked one of the turrets and its automatic defense override kicked in, but she wasn't injured."

"Well, at least she won't try hitting it again. I'll send the men to pick up Rand. Make sure everything's in order for when she arrives."

Tremblay replaced the receiver and looked up at Doug, who had frozen in the act of organizing documents in a nearby cabinet.

"Well, today's the day, Doug."

"I - I almost forgot," he said. Inwardly, he cursed himself. Despite Tremblay's meeting with the conspirators, the doctor had informed them that he would only disclose the specific date for the operation to a few vital members. Doug had told himself to stay alert, to try and determine the date by Tremblay's actions, yet he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Caroline still had to be warned, and this sudden progress would make it harder to get to her in time.

"Forgot? Doug, this is the day we make history. And I mean it this time! Forget, indeed! I can barely sit still!"

Doug's lips curled in distaste. He felt like reminding the man of the child he was about to orphan, but knew it was more prudent to keep his thoughts to himself.

"A great day, indeed," he said.

"We should be ready soon enough," Tremblay continued. He rose and started out of the office, hands folded behind his back in a dictatorial manner. "You might as well finish that off later, you'll only be interrupted. In fact, you should think about making your way up to the operating room now. I don't think it will take very long to convince Miss Rand to comply."

"Yes, Doctor," Rattmann said, dropping the last of the paperwork into position and following Tremblay out the door. He waited until Tremblay had disappeared around a corner before setting off in the direction of Rand's office. It took an agonizingly long time to make his way through the labyrinthine halls, not daring to run lest he attract attention to himself. He pulled his lab coat tighter around himself, wondering whether it was from the chill in the air or his own nervous expectancy that he was shivering.

* * *

Caroline sipped her coffee, hands trembling to such a degree that she nearly tipped the liquid over herself. Doug stood in the middle of the room with his eyes fixed on the door of the office, tapping his foot nervously.

"I know this is a lot to register, Miss Rand, but we can't stay here any longer. They'll be arriving soon. You have to leave the building."

Caroline placed the cup atop a precariously stacked pile of forms and shook her head.

"It's just too ludicrous. I'm sorry, I can't believe it."

"I'm still struggling to comprehend it myself," Doug admitted, glancing at his watch.

"Presuming you're telling the truth, what do they think they're gaining? I told Dr Tremblay the research could continue. All they had to do was find someone else who was willing to become a lab rat. And now they're… Well."

Doug opened the door and looked out.

"Loyalty to Cave turned into obsession," he said, feeling a stab of shame as he thought of his uncle. Johnson had always had the ability to gain followers, as if he could manipulate minds without being aware of it. Doug was painfully aware that he had been one of those disciples.

"Miss Rand, you're a sensible woman. You know what the men who work here are like. They were hired _because _they are like it; they're detached from reality."

"This is mad," Caroline said, though with less conviction then before. "For all I know you've gone mad."

"I'll be happy to try and give you some evidence once we've moved somewhere else. They know you're always here in the office at this time of day; moving could give us a few more minutes to arrange things. Please, your daughter's life may depend on it." He was trying to speak as softly as he could, not wishing to heighten the woman's fear. She had nearly collapsed when he had first told of her of Chell's plight, before quickly shielding her feelings with her dubiety.

Caroline had moved over to a locker next to her desk and pulled out a file, one which she was now leafing through.

"Douglas Rattmann," she said slowly. "Your file says you're a paranoid schizophrenic."

"You have our personal files on hand for your own use?" Doug said, looking at the file and fidgeting slightly.

"The files of those I need to keep an eye on. Don't worry, you're not the only one; this cabinet has the details of all the genetic lifeform scientists. I gathered them not long after Mr. Johnson's death. This is beside the point, though. A schizophrenic comes into my office telling me there's a conspiracy to turn me into a giant robot by threatening my child. I'm not convinced."

Doug sighed.

"Well, I can understand that. And for that matter, I really don't know how to convince you." He paused, listening to the _ta-tick, ta-tick _of the clock on Caroline's desk.

"For one thing," he said at last, "I'm in a considerably high field of research – one that requires extreme focus and precision – and my colleagues trust me implicitly." Here Caroline raised an eyebrow, but Doug ignored her and continued. "So I can be relied upon to be fairly level-headed. And I take tablets – I can bring you the bottle if you wish, and you can check them yourself. Look, Miss Rand, just tell me what I can do to convince you and I'll do it. We can't waste any more time. I loathe to use this expression, but, _what have you got to lose? _If this turns out to be the ravings of a paranoid man, you can forget about it and go on your way. But what if it turns out I'm telling the truth?"

"Fine," Caroline said, letting his file drop back into the draw with a thump. "I'll suspend my disbelief. What exactly are they going to do with her?"

"Apparently, they've trapped her in one of the test chambers. They've got turrets in there, nailed to the ground. She won't be able to knock any of them over."

"That's doesn't seem right. Turrets would…" She paused to swallow. "Would kill her instantly. If they plan to threaten her, they'd use something more gradual. Oh gosh…"

"It wouldn't be instant. You'll remember Cave Johnson wanted the turrets to fire whole bullets. Turrets use spring pistons to fire. In other words, they don't have all that much velocity. If she was lucky, she might survive a few hits." Doug scratched his chin. Caroline had raised a valid point, one he had neglected in his excitement.

"Actually, you're right. As far as I know, the turrets are locked on Search Mode. It could be that they were simply put there to scare you into agreeing. I wouldn't be surprised if Tremblay has some trick up his sleeve if they fail to shake you."

"I can't believe I let her come back here. Maybe I should call someone," said Caroline. "The police?" she added lamely.

"Tremblay will have thought of that," he said as she dialed a number. She shook her head.

"Nothing. Someone's done something to the phone. I could go to security?"

"The heads of the security personnel are with him."

"Damn! Is everyone on their side?" she said, slamming her fist onto the table. She swore and nursed her bruised hand. "You had better be telling the truth about this, Mr. Rattmann, or I swear..."

"Stay calm," Doug said. "This is a long shot, but I'm going to try and find Chell."

"You mean you don't know which chamber she's in?"

"Well, they didn't think I needed to know. I'm not meant to play any part in the threatening, I'm just a scientist; they only need me for the actual procedure. But if I can find her, I can access the chamber's controls - presuming it's not too heavily guarded - and let her out. Then I can bring her to you."

"I doubt you'll be able to do it in time, especially if you don't know where to start looking. Is there someone else who might know?"

"Most of the test associates, probably. Even if they don't know about what's going on, they'll have been informed the chamber is off limits, or something to that effect. But it would be a risk asking one of them. I'm not sure who's working for Tremblay. The doctor might trust me now, but he's running a risky job. I need to be cautious."

Caroline rose and started rifling through the papers on her desk, the mug falling with a muffled thud onto the thick carpet.

"I can't find any record of Chell even arriving, let alone where she's testing," she said.

"Not surprising. She wasn't cleared for testing to begin with. They _had_ turned her down."

Caroline turned to the door, deep emotions momentarily betrayed by a wringing of the hands.

"Test associates… Most of them would be aware of which chambers are being used?"

"I should think so."

"Ask Pendleton, then."

"Miss Rand, he's the one that told them Chell's your daughter."

"He is? What were the circumstances?"

"Well, there were quite a few of Tremblay's goons about; he was panicking quite a bit."

"There you have it, then."

"Don't you see? What if he does it again?"

"He can only tell them what he knows. Be creative, lie, anything you want. Tell him you need to meet someone there and forgot what the chamber's number is."

"Why do you trust him so much? You must know he's… not quite right."

"Yes, but he's also the only trustworthy person in this entire damned facility. Just now, you didn't suggest he might work for Tremblay, because you also realize it."

"Actually, that's not…"

"It's why I chose him to watch over Chell. He's the only person I could be sure wouldn't use or manipulate her for his own benefit. I even told him some things about my past, and I know he hasn't told anyone."

Doug barely stopped himself rolling his eyes.

"He may be just as crazy as the rest of the jolt heads that work here," Caroline continued, "but at least he doesn't have their intellegence."

"In other words, you trust him because he's too dumb to be dangerous," Doug said, a little more witheringly than he intended.

"At this point, you don't have a choice, anyway. We need an associate's help, and he's the only one we can be certain isn't with Tremblay."

Doug raked his fingers through his hair, regretting that he had always taken measures to avoid the test chambers.

"Fine, I concede. Just promise me you'll get out of here."

"I can find a place to hide. Thank goodness the facility is so vast."

"Oh no. You have to _leave - _go to the surface."

"You don't expect me to leave with Chell still in here?"

"I promise you, I will find her. Your staying would only put her in more danger."

Caroline pressed her lips together firmly and nodded, though she still watched him with a hint of unease. Tearing the corner off one of the documents, she scrawled an address on it, the leaking pen leaving blotches of ink by each word.

"My address," she said, handing it to him. "Take Chell there - I'll alert someone outside."

"Hurry," he said, opening the door wide for her.

They walked down the corridor, separating at the first fork. For a while, Doug was still aware of her footsteps echoing through the halls before they faded out of earshot.

He quickened his pace.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Nobody Else Left**_

Doug thanked his luck that it was midday as he entered the cafeteria and saw Wheatley sitting at one of the tables.

"Mr. Pendleton, do you have a moment?" he asked as he reached him.

Wheatley looked up from his cup of tea, guilt etched across his face.

"Of course."

Doug opened his mouth, but Wheatley interrupted before he could say a word.

"I'm _really _sorry, by the way. About the thing with Miss Rand. I don't know what I was thinking, it was mad. It's not like the guards where being even _remotely _threatening! They were just standing there! Sincerely, I'm sorry."

"Yes, yes, it's fine. I need…"

"I haven't stopped thinking about it! Actually, sometimes I do stop, but then I start thinking about it again and it's even worse. I'll be doing something, then I think of it and I'm like _'rrrrr, why did I do that?'_"

"Pendleton!"

Wheatley started.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I need you to help me find a test chamber. It might have been put off-limits temporarily, you see. I've clean forgotten where it is."

"Off-limits? Um, Mr. Fane told us we should stay away from chambers one to seven in shaft ten, new section. There's some sort of fault with the panels, they're knocking people out like flies. Unless you were talking about all those vitrified tests?"

"No, actually. Why would I… Never mind. Chambers one to seven, then? Thanks."

Doug walked back out, planning to get out of sight before he made a run for the chambers. He had wasted too much time already, and was desperately hoping that Caroline had gotten out by now.

"Hey, hold on!"

Doug dug his fingernails into his palms as Wheatley jogged up alongside him.

"Yes, Pendleton?"

"This wouldn't be about Chell, would it?" he asked quietly.

"It has nothing to do with her. Please, I'm very busy."

"You're not helping them hurt her, are you? Oh, then again maybe you're going to rescue her - yes, that's it. I can tell by your face. All determination. Man on a mission."

Doug ignored him and continued, although he had only a faint idea of where shaft ten was located. Wheatley stepped ahead of him.

"Look, I know what I said is probably going to result in something rather nasty. Rather acutely aware of it, in fact. If that something is already happening, I want to help you stop it."

"What if the guards find you and decide to actually use some force to get information from you?"

"I didn't have time to register how serious it was! Come on, I promise I won't say anything to anyone. It'll be easier for me to stay quiet if I know someone else is in really bad trouble."

"…You can accompany me. And that's simply because I have no idea where to find the chamber she's in."

"She's in a chamber? Chell or Miss Rand?"

"Chell. They've surrounded her with turrets in the hopes Rand will be scared into agreeing to the brain-mapping."

"So we'll be getting rid of the turrets?"

"Well, I was hoping to let Chell out too."

"'Course! Here, shaft ten's control centre isn't far away, I'll show you."

* * *

"What do they do in this place?" said Doug, his voice low. Wheatley had led him to a vast open room, poorly lit and made from an ugly grey rock unfamiliar to the scientist. Despite its relatively recent construction, thick black stains had managed to infiltrate the area, creeping down the walls like shadows of ivy.

"Well, the place where they control the chambers in shaft ten is over there," Wheatley said, pointing to a cantilevered protrusion halfway up the wall. It looked somewhat unnerving, precariously hanging there. Through the windows on the side - the light pouring through these was the only thing illuminating the place - Doug could see the top of someone's head silhouetted against the peeling yellow wallpaper of the room inside.

"I see. What's the rest of this place for?"

"Um, keeping the control room in?"

"Never mind. Wait here," Doug said, as he scaled the unstable metal stairs which led to the control centre. He jiggled the door-handle and, finding it locked, knocked on the window, doing so lightly so as not to betray his agitation. Through the glass, he saw Mr. Fane wheeling his chair away from his desk and squinting at him from across the room. A look of relief passed over his face, and he opened the door, holding out an arm.

"Just you, Rattmann? Shouldn't you be preparing for the brain mapping? I'm on edge as it is, without you popping up and scaring the hell out of me."

"You're alone?" Doug asked, glancing at the cabinets which lined the walls.

"Yes, and not happy about it, either. 'Lock the door,' they said, 'that'll keep 'em out.' Yeah, like no-one's ever heard of breaking a door down. The least they could have done is post a few guards, but no - apparently that would arose suspicion! Never heard of beating the hell out of intruders either, I suppose."

"Madness," Doug said idly, eyes passing over the live feed from Chell's chamber.

"So, what do you want?" Fane asked.

"Oh, right. I don't suppose you know if they have Rand yet?"

"As far as I know, no. They've clogged up all the phones bar this one and about five others, haven't they? Impossible to keep track of everyone! More trouble then it's worth; it's not like Rand knows what's happening. And as soon as she does find out, she won't be able to get to a phone anyway. Common sense, that's all it takes."

"Ah, alright," Doug said, moving over to the cabinets. A few thick plastic folders had been dumped carelessly into the cracks between them, and he picked up the heftiest-looking one.

"I was also wondering if the turrets are the only thing we're using on Chell."

"No, Tremblay's got some neurotoxin dispensers behind the panels," Fane said. "If the turrets don't scare Rand, he'll give me a signal to turn them on."

Fane turned to the screen, arms folded.

"A charade, really. No organization."

"It's a disgrace, isn't it?" Doug said as he brought the spine of the folder down onto Fane's skull. The man fell forward over the table before sliding to the floor, dragging a keyboard and cup down with him. Doug propped Fane's limp body up in the corner before leaning out the doorway.

"Come up, Pendleton!" he said. Wheatley started up the stairs.

"What happened?" He looked into the room, jaw dropping at the sight of blood running through Fane's wispy hair and staining his pale face. Doug glanced at the unconscious man, a feeling of queasiness starting to rise in his stomach. Normally, the sight of blood wouldn't faze him; a scientist can't afford to be squeamish. But this was different - he was the cause of the injury.

"I know it looks bad, but we can sort him out later," Doug said, refusing to be swayed.

"Y-You're sure? He might have some massive brain damage by now!"

"I didn't hit him that hard. I know... I didn't intend... Sorry, I... Look, we need to do this _now_. How do we manipulate the chamber?"

Wheatley pushed past Doug and pulled the keyboard up, his face as stiff and gray as a statue. A small box popped up on the screen, requesting a password.

"Ack, problem," he said, taking a step back.

Doug placed a hand over the keys. A few years ago, during a visit to Cave's house, he had found a strip of paper with 'Tier 3' in barcode buried inside a chest of draws. The following days, after deciphering it and experimentally typing it into one of the office machines, he had discovered it was Cave's password, one that gave him access to otherwise restricted information and let him pass through any barrier. Doug had gleefully started using it to track his uncle's activities.

Doug typed out the phrase with some trepidation. After all, it was possible that Tremblay was aware of the all-powerful code and, in the fear that Caroline knew of it, taken measures to block it.

He entered it and bit his tongue, feeling his heart leap as the computer accepted it.

"What was that, then?" Wheatley asked, as he resumed his work.

"Nothing. Can we hurry?" he said impatiently.

"Sure, sure." For a minute, he worked in silence. "Panels, they're the hardest thing to move. Lots of safety things to do, making sure no-one gets mashed up. I'll be done in a second. Seriously, I do know what I'm doing. You know when the password thing came up and I said it was a problem? Never was, really. I'm quite a dab hand at hacking, we would have managed and… Oh, there we go."

The screen was now displaying a three-dimensional view of the chamber, with details on the machinery's inner workings surrounding it. Doug could see where tubes had been connected to the wall behind the panels, and guessed they were the inlet for the neurotoxin. In the left corner was the image from the chamber's camera; Chell was continuing her examination of the room.

"Right, what are we going to do?" Wheatley asked.

"Can you contact Chell?"

He nodded and, reaching beneath the desk, flicked a few switches. He pulled out a microphone concealed behind the computer, which Doug had not previously noted.

"Take it away," Wheatley said, edging the microphone towards Doug.

On the screen, they saw Chell's head snap up.

"Mr. Pendleton, is that you?" she said, excitement evident in her voice.

"Yup! Don't worry; we're going to get you out of there! Hopefully. No, forget I said that; definitely!" he said, cheerful once again. Doug leaned forward and snatched the microphone away.

"Chell, are you alright?"

"Fine, sir. A bit bored, though. By the way, I don't think your turrets are working."

Doug paused, debating whether or not to alert her to the situation.

"We'll send someone to inspect the construction line later," he said finally, deciding to leave her in the dark. Keeping her calm was important; she didn't suspect anything was amiss, and it would be easier if it stayed that way. His experience with Rand had also taught him that dealing with distraught women was no easy task. He indicated to Wheatley to turn off the microphone, which he did.

"Pendleton, can you open the doors?"

"There aren't any doors, just a big old box. From what I can see, the lift to the next chamber is non-existent. If there is a room right next to the chamber, we might be able to move the panels aside, let her squeeze through. That might take a while, though. That or let her back into the testing track she came from."

"First we should clear the chamber of danger, in case Tremblay manages to find Rand. Then we can get her out."

He flicked the microphone back on.

"Now, we're going to get rid of these turrets first," he said, trying to imitate the calming tone of a public service announcer.

"I don't think they're really all _that_ dangerous," Chell said, with a hint of sulkiness. Doug sighed, hoping the robots' sweet words hadn't won her over.

"If they really are broken, we can't be too sure. Don't want them to suddenly open fire, do we? Pendleton, could we crush them with the panels?"

"Probably, but you'll have to answer to the company."

"Get on it. Make Chell a barricade with the panels; we don't want any shrapnel hitting her. And the neurotoxin…"

"No problem. The panels in front of the tubes are all loose right now, so I'll just tighten them, make a toxin-lock."

"Right. Handle that, and then try to let her out. I'm going to shaft ten."

"What? But what if someone comes to check on him?" he said, pointing to Fane.

Doug gestured to the folder with which he had knocked him out.

"I - I can't wallop people!" Wheatley said.

"What's going on? You've gone muffled," Chell said.

"Nothing!" Wheatley said, hurriedly turning off the microphone. He swiveled back.

"Okay, give me the folder. I can do this. Maybe no one will even come, right?"

"We can hope."

Doug gave him the heavy papers and stepped back out onto the catwalk.

"Which way is it, again?" Doug asked.

"Turn left when you leave this place, straight ahead at the four-way branch. After that there a few signs. On the walls. Yep. What are you going to do?"

"I want to be nearby when you get Chell out. We'll have to leave, fast."

"Got it, I'll get to work. I promise I won't mess it up."

Doug nodded and left. After he had travelled a few yards, he felt a hint of doubt, wondering if it had been a wise decision to leave Wheatley at the controls. Without faltering, however, he continued towards the chambers. It was Wheatley's job to manage chambers, and besides, it would take too long to return. Caroline's face had held a look of determination as she had departed, and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had plans of her own.

"Alea iacta est," he said.


	12. Chapter 12

_(I apologize for once again missing the update time. I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but no matter how many times I re-write it I can't get it right. This is the best I can do, so, sorry...)_

_**One Day they woke me up…**_

Doug could tell that there was something amiss about room seven. He leaned over the railings, heart thudding at the great drop which stretched before him, and looked out at the line of eight chambers stacked upon each other.

Shaft ten.

It was one of the shorter testing tracks, designed for subjects around the age of six. There appeared to have been little attempt to maintain the shaft; deep cracks had scarred the cylindrical wall, and low groans, like that of creaking timbers, could occasionally be heard from the steel chamber supports. The air stank of mildew, and possessed a heavy quality, the tell-tale signs of mould and rot. This, however, was not the cause for concern.

Each chamber was fixed onto the one below by a series of stout steel bars and pillars, mostly hidden behind the panels. Nestled amongst these workings would be the elevator, waiting to transport the lucky subject to the next tier.

Chamber eight was different. It was raised roughly four metres above chamber seven, an adequate distance for Doug to notice the lift, leading from seven to eight, had been obliterated. Only a few jagged edges were still attached to the chambers, peeking out like icebergs in an ocean. Shards of thick glass had fallen to the top of chamber seven, along with twisted metal hoops and a charred health and safety notice.

Doug straightened up; hanging over such a huge gap was making his hands tingle. He had just tipped his head back to straighten his spine when he noticed a room hanging directly over chamber eight. The despair he had felt at the sight of the elevator subsided somewhat, and he bolted down the catwalk, searching for a way to reach it.

On running to the opposite side of the shaft, head spinning from the circular motion, he found a staircase leading to it. He promptly charged up, cursing Tremblay in his mind.

The inside was near identical to Fane's control room, though without the filing cabinets. It made up for this lack with numerous computer screens, all flat and sleek. Doug briefly wondered if Wheatley had made a mistake, that maybe _this_ was shaft ten's centre.

He scanned the screens; the largest ones displayed images of Chell inside the chamber, still hunting for an escape route. After searching in vain for a plug board or set of controls, it dawned on him that this was where the threatening was going to take place. A few of the smaller screens read, rather bluntly, _'Turrets Online'; _Doug smiled mirthlessly.

Kneeling down, he started scouring the desk for a way to get in touch with Chell. Finding nothing confirmed his theory; the room was little more then a stage, a ploy to heighten Caroline's fear.

He was just about to pull himself to his feet when the sound of shoes on metal rang through the air. Without thinking he ducked down lower, then, realizing that it would be better to act as if he was _meant_ to be there, stood up.

Doug looked out the window, biting his tongue. Tremblay was leading a group of seven scientists and many more security men towards the room. Trailing behind them was Caroline, each arm held tightly by a guard. Her clothes and hair were disheveled, and a dark bruise encircled her left eye.

They arrived within the minute. Tremblay opened the door, slamming it into the wall as he did. His face was flushed. Upon seeing Doug, the rage seemed to dissipate, as if the added confusion had pushed him past anger and into a preternatural calm. Doug opened his mouth to speak, brain going into a swizzle as he tried to formulate an excuse for being there, but Tremblay held up a hand.

"Doug, this woman has been driving me mad. I'm tired, my head's killing me. If you're going to say that something's gone wrong, well…"

Doug shot a glance at the screen - the turrets remained intact. He was powerless while Chell could still be harmed. A lump formed in his throat.

Over the shoulders of the scientists crowding the entrance, he could see Caroline struggling to see inside. Her eyes were wide, the light in the room making them look like small moons. He willed Wheatley to hurry, as if he could communicate the urgency telepathically.

"Dr Rattmann," Tremblay said stiffly. One of the guards had pushed his way in, hand hovering over his weapon.

Doug tried to imagine the worst case scenario if his allegiance to Rand was discovered. Tremblay certainly wouldn't let him go with just a slap on the wrist. He knew his file marked him as 'expendable'; no family, no friends, no-one to notice his absence, no-one to come after him. If he was going to get out of this unscathed, he'd have to secure the doctor's trust.

A cold weight fell over him; his selfishness amazed himself. Ever since the human testing had come to light, he'd been so sure of his dedication to his principles. He would walk through Aperture's corridors with a feeling of superiority – _he was above these monsters_. As he smiled and laughed with them, pretending to be a part of their band, daydreams of revealing the company's corruption played out in his mind's eye.

Such fantasies were nearly forgotten at the sight of the guard's pistols.

Out of the corner of his eyes, on the nearest screen, Doug saw the panels lifting up around Chell, their movements slow and deliberate, like someone figuring out how to tackle a wasp. Wheatley's voice could be heard, faint and crackly.

"Um, oh gosh. I shouldn't have started this. Look, if you just keep still, I can get the tile things to cover you up, to stop the spitty bits hitting you when the turrets explode."

"You're sure about this?" Chell asked, plunking herself down on the floor and watching the panels towering over her. Carefully edging forward, inch by inch, they slid over her, forming a cube.

"Positive!" Wheatley said. At this, the panels on the ceiling came down with alarming speed, an almost comical contrast to their previous movements.

Down they came onto the heads of the turrets, the robots' metal bodies crumpling as easily as paper. The glass of their optics shattered, and they simultaneously started to fire their arsenal like desperate soldiers. Some of them yelled in simulated pain, others politely requested that the panels be lifted. Within seconds, all that was left of them were their flattened hulls.

"There's a man in the control centre," Tremblay said.

"No, really?" Caroline said. Her sarcasm momentarily surprised Doug; he hoped it stemmed from her relief that her daughter could no longer be shot, and not from loss of spirit.

"Doug, do you want to explain?" said Tremblay, speaking quietly but shaking all the same.

"I've been trying to find you and alert you about him, but none of the phones are working," Doug said. The words had barely left his lips when he started wishing he could pull them back into his throat.

Tremblay gave a queer throaty growl and turned to his guards.

"Three of you go and get that man in the control centre. I want him questioned; find out if anyone else is – _was -_ trying to help Rand. Use any means. Take Dr Chambers with you, too. She can set up the neurotoxin."

He turned back.

"Why didn't you tell me as soon as I entered?"

"It's, ah, the stress, I haven't been able to… think straight," Doug said wearily, the realization that he had as good as betrayed Pendleton starting to sink in.

Tremblay walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"We'll discuss this later, Rattmann. Right now, I need to have a word with this greenhorn."

* * *

"Hello?" said Wheatley. His voice was barely audible through the receiver, but there was a definite hint of pride in it. Doug felt a jab of guilt; he sounded so happy, confident that he could complete his task. Tremblay grabbed Caroline's wrist and pulled her forward so she could hear the conversation.

"This is Dr Tremblay. To whom am I speaking?"

"Pendle - oops."

"Pendleton?"

He cupped his hand over the receiver.

"This man's the idiot, isn't he?" he asked in a whisper. There was a general nodding of heads from the scientists. Tremblay nodded back with a brief smile.

"Right, Mr. Pendleton. We've all seen your impressive display of resourcefulness, and we want you to know that we've decided to give up."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. What can we do without the turrets? There are a couple of men coming to pick you up, so stay put."

"Um, I'm not sure…"

"Well, there are still some things to straighten out. They'll bring you up here and we can get sorted. But everything is _fine _now."

He put the phone down and glared at Caroline.

"So, what is it going to be? We can wait until Dr Chambers starts up the neurotoxin, or you can sign the papers now. And let me remind you, the affects of nerve agents are _very _unpleasant."

"Dr Tremblay, if you do this…"

"Answer me!"

Caroline took a step back. It was strange seeing the strong woman looking so vulnerable, an effect similar to watching a noble lion in a circus act. She looked at the screens; Chell had crawled out of the panel cube, and was looking around cautiously, picking at the squashed machines.

"Please, doctor," she said, her voice as calm as if she were discussing business plans. "I loved Cave Johnson. If his final request had been anything else, I would have tried to honor it. I don't do this out of disrespect."

"Love for him, or for your cozy little job? I took the liberty of examining your history, Miss Rand. You were married; you tried to cover it up, didn't you? So you could continue to be Johnson's lap dog. And of course, Johnson found out eventually."

"He _always _knew. I kept no secrets from him."

"Do you know what happened to your husband?"

"He died during testing," Caroline said, fixing him with a glare.

"Johnson had him placed in cryogenic storage. You can still find him, with a nice fat label on the unit – Gregory Rand. If you live through the brain mapping, we'll place you in a pod right next to him."

"You think messing with my head will have some effect?" Caroline said.

"You knew about your husband, didn't you? Cave always wanted you, and he would get rid of those who stood in his way."

Caroline was silent. She placed a hand on the image of Chell, as if trying to shield her.

"This is just an opportunity to pay him back, isn't it?"

"You're wrong. Cave reacted the way I wanted him to. I did the only thing that would move him to finally show his feelings for me."

She turned to Tremblay.

"I was just as blinded and loyal to Cave as the rest of you."

Tremblay paused, then laughed and shook his head.

"With that much conviction, I'm not sure whether I believe you or not. A shame, really – it sounds better then Mills and Boon. Anyway, it really doesn't matter what you felt towards Cave. All that matters is his request."

The phone rang, making all of them jump. Doug took a few steps back as Tremblay answered, the conversation having shaken him up. He had taken it upon himself to help the Rands simply because he couldn't stand the thought of Aperture ruining anymore lives. Now he wondered if Caroline would have even felt such sentiments if placed in his position.

"Sir, the doctor has opened the toxin inlets. We found Doctor Peter Fane with a gash in his head; he's been taken to the medical ward. The man, Pendleton, is in custody. Awaiting your instructions," said the guard on the phone.

"Quickly, Rand. Your decision, if you please," Tremblay said.

Chell had started trying to lever a panel open using the twisted remains of a turret leg.

"Don't hurt her," Caroline said quietly, casting a final glance at the guards' holsters. "I'll go into your _damned machine." _She spat out the last two words.

One of the scientists stepped forward and held out five sheets of paper and a pen. Caroline snatched them from her, staring at them incredulously.

"You want me to fill out a form?"

"That's what it looks like."

"You threaten a young girl… to make me sign a form?"

"I doubt there'll be any investigations, but having you sign a paper giving your consent to the experiment makes everything legal and squeaky-clean. You're damn right I want you to fill it in."

Caroline held the sheets in her trembling hands, laughing quietly as water filled her eyes. Taking the pen, she made to sign the papers.

"I've seen your signature, Rand. I can make you re-do it if you try anything."

"Oh, please."

Caroline signed her name and flicked through the other pages, filling in the necessary blanks. Doug noticed that she was breathing deeply, trying to calm down. Arriving at the fifth page, she looked up.

"Chell's guardian? She doesn't have any living relatives. I want her to go to a good orphanage."

"As far as I know, she doesn't suspect anything," Tremblay said, looking at the screen. Chell was continuing her efforts to break a panel. "But I don't want her moving outside our sphere of influence. Who knows what things might fester in her mind if we leave her in some care home?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"You can leave her in the care of one of my colleagues."

"And you think I'll do that? I'm already doing what you want, why can't you let me have some control over my daughter's future?"

"I believe I just explained it to you," he said, pronouncing each word carefully in the way an adult would while trying to explain something to a child.

"Surely there's more to it then just writing who I want to take care of her. There are legal steps to take and…"

"Whatever you write will be included in your last will and testament. That and a few background checks on your guardian of choice should be enough. And besides, Miss Rand, I know a few people who owe me favours."

"What will you say happened to me?"

"A nice little story about your bravery in making the ultimate sacrifice for science. Something to make Chell proud."

Caroline tightened her grip on the pen and rammed the nib into the paper, before scribbling out a name with savage force. As she leaned back, Tremblay snapped the page up eagerly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Rattmann?"

Caroline nodded, throwing the pen down on the floor.

"Yes."

_(More to come.)_


	13. Chapter 13

…_**So I Could Live Forever**_

Caroline lay on the table, her limbs outstretched. Her hair had hastily been shaven off and left to spill over the sides of the bed. Without the halo of wavy locks, her face looked gaunt and ancient.

The scientists injected the chips into her scalp, their technique seeming hurried in comparison to the care they had taken with Cave.

For the most part she kept silent, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Whenever anyone ventured near her, however, her control slipped, and she would start to plead quietly for help.

Doug looked up at the ceiling; the GLaDOS was hanging in the next room up, awaiting the breath of life. Tremblay came up behind him, a beaming smile on his lips.

"Soon now. It's a good thing we managed to stop Pendleton, eh?"

"My thoughts exactly, Henry," Doug said, his voice cracking slightly. Tremblay frowned and scrutinized his face.

"Right, well, this is no time to chitchat," he said finally, straightening his tie. "Go and monitor her life-signs, would you?"

"Again?"

"Yes. I want you to calm her down, ensure her you'll look after the child. We can't have her agitated; it will interfere with her brain patterns. Whatever she's thinking and feeling will be translated into the machine, and I don't want the GLaDOS to be soiled."

"Of course you don't," Doug said as he made for the table, painfully aware of Tremblay's watchful eyes.

Upon reaching the side of the operating table he took up his position at the monitor, a feeling of déjà vu setting in. He hoped that this would be where the similarities ended.

"Miss Rand?" he said quietly.

Her head flopping weakly towards him, the morphine they had pumped into her system taking effect.

"Dr Rattmann," she said.

"I want to apologize," Doug began. "I…"

"Don't patronize me." she murmured, her words slurring together ever-so-slightly.

"I was panicking – scared of Tremblay learning that I'd helped you. That's what I was trying to apologize for," Doug said.

"So Pendleton was a distraction to divert their attention from you?"

"Yes," he said stiffly.

Caroline closed her eyes and stretched her neck out, as if preparing for an executioner to slice through it.

"Why did you choose me to take care of Chell?" he asked her.

"Schizophrenia. I'm counting on the authorities refusing you custody of Chell because of your mental state. I'm sorry to use it against you like this, but I'm sure you can understand my reasons."

Doug's brow furrowed.

"I know that nothing I say will help, but if that doesn't work, if I do have to take care of her, I'm going to do everything I can to give her a normal life… That probably doesn't sound very convincing." He looked up and, after making sure no-one was nearby, he added, "Maybe _I_ can take her to an orphanage?"

"That from the coward who gave up his friend?"

"Please, Miss Rand, I'm serious. I don't know how to raise a child, for goodness sakes."

"I hate to turn it down, but if it comes to that, I think she should stay with you. If left, she might eventually return here. She has tenacity in her blood. If she ends up in your care, I'll need you to do all you can to keep her away from this place."

"I can't tell her what happened today."

"And I don't expect you to," she said through a deep yawn. She tried to move her hand, unaware that the scientists had clamped her down.

"They've tied me up, haven't they?" she asked, craning her neck to see the straps. Doug nodded, and she gave a long sigh.

"Don't tell her what actually happened… _Is_ happening, Doctor. She must forget about this place. Any emotion she has towards Aperture, whether good or bad, must be replaced with neutrality."

Her eyes, red and sore, started to close.

"Not even a chance to say goodbye. I'm sorry. Here I am, talking about everything but the things you need to know."

Blinking, she looked up at Doug.

"You'll have to be careful what you say around her, she's very sensitive. She's out of school, but I suppose she should go back now. She was never one to need help with homework, so don't worry. And don't buy her avocados, she's allergic to them," Caroline said. There was a change in her tone, a nuance of determination. Doug nodded, hoping he appeared reassuring.

"Then of course there's her arm – right one. She broke it, and it's healing well, but she still has to have it checked regularly." A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "It happened last time she was here, actually, during the interview testing. All of the associates rushed up here to help with Cave, left Pendleton to manage on his own. Apparently a cube hit her when she was standing next to an apparatus vent and he had to bandage her up on his own. The doctors said that he had actually made it worse, and she went blue in the face defending him."

She chuckled, still sniffling.

"She still insisted on keeping the bandage he had used."

"Begin initial scans!" said Tremblay.

Doug looked across at the core into which Caroline's mind was being downloaded. It rested on a pedestal of wires and metal rods, almost hidden by the fine connection coils plugged into it. The cores themselves were remarkably compact, the size of an overlarge cherry tomato. A narrow vital apparatus vent hung down just above it, ready to transport it to the GLaDOS. From there on robotic arms, infinitely more precise than human hands, would place it in the GLaDOS' 'head', a skull for the brain.

The fan began to turn once again. Doug took a deep breath; Caroline held hers. The announcer spoke, repeating the words he had spoken to them during the last brain mapping.

"Mechanical Overheating Safeguard activated. And remember, a balanced temperature is a vital part of remaining calm and collected in an atmosphere of extreme pressure and potential bloodguilt. Scans initiated; scanning limbic system. Scanning hippocampus. Scanning amygdale. Completely disregarding the Corpus Callosum. Computer Capacity Parameters set. Ready to download."

"Get the neural reader on her," Tremblay said.

The metallic hood was soon in place around Caroline's head. The last Doug saw of her before it was covered was a wide-eyed stare.

"Neural reader is now active. Subject: Rand, Caroline; are you ready to begin the procedure?"

Caroline clenched her eyes shut. There was no point in fighting it any longer.

"I'm ready."

_(Short one. I could probably end it here, but I have a lot more theories yet... So, yeah, not over just yet.)_


	14. Chapter 14

_(As always, thank you for reading!)_

_**A Sixteenth of a Picosecond **_

Doug pressed down on the accelerator; he was eager to get back to his house, yet the journey seemed to be taking longer then normal. Through the rear-view mirror he could see Chell, sitting rigidly in the back. She had untied her hair, hanging her head so it would obscure her face.

It had been a week since Caroline had undergone the brain-mapping. Her core was fixed in place at that very moment, ready to be turned on at any time. Tremblay had curbed his enthusiasm for the moment, agreeing to let the engineers run a few checks before it was activated.

It had left them time to arrange the legality of Chell's new guardian with the courts. Doug was astounded at how swiftly things were being dealt with; Social Services had been questioning him so intensely he was sure they could write an entire biography with the material.

Chell, much to Tremblay's dismay, had been residing in a children's home for the duration of the legal proceedings, and although the investigations were far from over, it had been agreed that Doug could care for her for a fortnight – a 'trial test', as they had put it, under observation. Tremblay had hoped for more, but even he had to admit satisfaction with this sort of unprecedented privilege.

It had barely been half an hour since Doug had picked her up, and already he was dubious about how well he would be able cope. As he had driven to the home, his main concern had been what he would say to her. He needn't have worried; apart from an acknowledging nod, she hadn't said a word. It put him on edge – was she expecting him to say something?

Mentally, he tried to relive the emotions he had felt when his own parents had died, attempting to put himself on her wavelength.

"How have you been coping?" he finally asked, opting for simplicity.

"Fine," she said. Doug nodded, brow furrowing slightly.

A pause.

"I was wondering… about the testing," Chell said quietly, not lifting her head. "What's going to happen now?"

"Well, we presumed that you wouldn't want to do it anymore."

"Oh."

"Why, what were you thinking?"

Chell bit her lip and looked up.

"I've been thinking about my mother. They told me that she gave everything because she wanted to make sure this experiment continued. And – well, I don't know much about it, but when I was there at the facility I saw lots of test subjects who they might have been able to use. But she did it anyway, because she knew the results would be clearer if they used her."

Doug nodded whenever she faltered, hardly believing the lies she had been fed.

"So I thought that, if she was willing to do that, I should make sacrifices for scientific development, too."

Chell craned her neck to look at Doug. Upon seeing the horror on his face, she held up her hands.

"N-Not like that! I just meant that maybe I should have a career in some sort of scientific field," she said quickly. Doug's shoulder's loosened.

"Ah, I see. Well, there's certainly a large variety to choose from." A frown came to his face; Caroline had wanted Chell to be kept away from Aperture, a sentiment he shared wholeheartedly.

"For instance, eh… nursing." He grimaced. A safe scientific profession, indeed, but it would hardly inspire the young woman. There had to be something he could add to give it some flavour.

"Many varieties of nursing, some more ambitious then others - some bordering on the very pinnacle of medical knowledge. They're making amazing discoveries."

"It sounds interesting," Chell said, her tone slightly strained, "but I was thinking of something bigger. Maybe, even, physics..."

The house had finally come into view. They pulled up outside, switched off the engine. Chell didn't make a move.

Doug scratched his chin absently; there was no point in trying to dissuade her at that moment, it would only alienate her further.

Besides, there wasn't necessarily any harm in the idea. The boundaries in his mind had become blurred; Aperture had effectively become science itself. It had caused him to forget how beautiful scientific study could be, the joys of discovering how the universe tied together.

There were plenty of companies that obeyed the laws against human experimenting. He smiled; with hard work, she might even end up a scientist at Black Mesa.

"Things are still quite uncertain at this point," he said, opening the door. "You'll only be staying here for two weeks after all. But if they give the go-ahead and allow me to become your guardian, then maybe we can see about some courses?"

Chell nodded and followed him around to the trunk to help collect her luggage. On the surface, she was silent and blank, but Doug knew better then to underestimate the girl. While he couldn't tell whether the conversation had been her way of distracting herself from reality or just an honest inquiry, he knew it had taken courage to talk about such things with a stranger.

It always took courage to talk, even at the best of times.

* * *

"Morning, Doug. How's little Rand?"

Doug rubbed his forehead, as if he could somehow wipe away his weariness. Tremblay was standing beneath the GLaDOS' limp body. He watched Doug carefully as the bleary-eyed scientist walked across the room to join him on the platform.

"Fine, I think," Doug said. "I haven't seen her this morning, she hadn't woken up."

"That's kids for you. What was your first taste of fatherhood like?"

"Please don't say that word again, Henry. Anyway, I hardly think I can say yet. Chell's a quiet girl. We spoke for a while during the car trip, but that's about it. It'll be a while before she's ready to speak properly."

"Of course. But you're going to be with her for a _long_ time. Think you can cope?"

"Well, nothing's decided just yet, is it? I'm sorry, but I don't fancy our chances. Really, what court is going to give a single thirty-year-old schizophrenic guardianship?"

"From what I hear, there hasn't been any cause for concern. Even if there was, I have a few friends on the inside who can tip the balance for us."

"In the same way the guards are your friends?"

"Let's just say I met them under similar circumstances. Think about it. Why else would you be allowed to have her for a whole fortnight?"

"I had wondered."

"I can tell you this; it was one hell of an expensive deal. I tried to stretch out the time, make it more like three weeks, but there's only so much you can do. I wanted to give you a chance to get used to her. By the way, you owe me a hundred dollars."

"My trust in the system grows every second."

Tremblay laughed and slapped Doug on the back, then, as spontaneously as his mirth had began, he fell silent.

"We've been colleagues for a while, Rattmann. When I decided to let you in on the plan, I had complete trust in you. But some of your actions worry me. You're a gifted scientist; I _want _to be able to have faith in you. We need your assistance."

Doug's eyes drifted across to GLaDOS.

There was no helping Caroline now. Her lifeless body had been placed in the cryogenic storage next to her husband. The only thing left to do was activate GLaDOS and hope that it would be enough to continue her legacy. A chill passed through him – it was a pitiful compromise.

"I don't know what I can say to make you trust me," Doug said. "But I give you my word that I want this to work. I'll do all I can to make it succeed."

Tremblay leaned back, folding his arms.

"I want to know the truth about your relation to Cave Johnson. Don't think we didn't hear you talking to him."

"You have the truth there. He was my uncle. That wasn't just the babbling of an old man. We didn't even try to cover it up like Rand did with her child. Anyone who would have looked could have found out."

Tremblay turned to the GLaDOS once again, nodding slowly. He reached up and caressed the machine's head tenderly.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he said. "We have a debt to repay him. Everyone does. Miss Rand has certainly paid hers, and now, we can as well. No matter what, this must work, and work well. The engineers and programmers have finished their checks. We can begin at anytime."

He turned to Doug, smiling.

"Mr. Rattmann, call the team, would you?"

* * *

It didn't take long for the Genetic Lifeform scientists to congregate at the GLaDOS chamber. Barely a quarter of an hour after Doug had sent the message, they had started to arrive, often in groups of five or more. Without any prompting they gathered in a circle around the GLaDOS, whispering to each other as if afraid to disturb the machine. Tremblay stood directly in front of it, hands clasped behind his back. Dr Chambers took up position by the computers at the entrance of the chamber, ready to type in the activation code.

"Are we all accounted for?" Tremblay asked. They all nodded, too eager to actually bother checking for any missing faces. Doug stood at the edge of the throng, unable to tear his attention away from the GLaDOS.

"Cross your fingers," Tremblay said. "Chambers, if you would."

Dr Chambers entered the activation code.

Her finger had barely left the pad when Doug noticed a change in the air around the vents on the ceiling, a difference he couldn't quite place. He was soon shaken from his thoughts when he saw the giant machine starting to stir.

Slowly, as if awaking from sleep, the GLaDOS lifted its head. The optic switched on, casting a dim yellow light over the anxious faces of the scientists. Inch by inch, it started to sway, moving rhythmically like a human flexing sore muscles.

"Hello, GLaDOS," Tremblay said. The machine looked down at him, tilting its head.

"I am GLaDOS. Hello," it said. Its voice sounded remarkably similar to Caroline's, though slightly deeper, with a mechanical edge.

Unable to contain themselves, the scientists started to applaud wildly. The GLaDOS hitched itself higher and turned its single eye down towards them, giving it an almost supercilious look.

"Is there a purpose to this action?" it asked. Tremblay started laughing, shaking his head in wonderment.

"Come on now, everyone, quiet down," he said, waving his hands. "GLaDOS, are all your programs operational?"

"Yes."

"Please try moving some of the panels in this room."

In reply, the panels started to spin and ripple. The whole room shook as the GLaDOS demonstrated its power, even going so far as to lift Tremblay up to its eye level. He started laughing again as he tried to keep his balance on the panel.

"Incredible," he said, looking around like a man who had discovered paradise.

"I have made a search for your file. Doctor Henry Tremblay, aged fifty-two," it said, examining him closely.

"Got it in one!"

"It says that you are in charge of the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System initiative – me."

"That's right," Tremblay continued, calming down slightly. The rest of the chamber had settled, but GLaDOS had not yet lowered him down.

"That's all it says. But I know you."

Tremblay looked over his shoulder at Chambers, who shook her head and shrugged.

"Well, why don't you explain what you mean?" Tremblay said, struggling to maintain his smile.

Doug had become aware of a slightly greenish tint in the air. He rubbed his eyes and started to edge closer to the exit, still unsure of what he was witnessing.

"_Well, _despite having such limited information on you, I know that you like neurotoxin. I think you like to use it. I do, too," it said gently.

At that point, Doug realized.

"Dr Chambers, fail-safe!" he said, while simultaneously trying to point out the vents to his colleagues. Although it was against protocol to take such an order from anyone but Tremblay, Chambers quickly typed in the kill code.

Everyone started to back out in a collective surge, some already moving sluggishly as the nerve agents invaded their bodies. Tremblay made to leap off the platform, but the GLaDOS anticipated the move, lifting a few more tiles up to keep him away from the floor, like an entomologist handling a specimen.

"Not so fast," it said.

"Hurry up, damn it!" Tremblay said.

Chambers entered the fail-safe. For a second, everything seemed to be frozen in place. Then, with a slight creak, both the panels and the GLaDOS' body drooped. Tremblay fell to the floor with a thud, narrowly missing the platform railings.

"Vent the toxin," he cried out weakly as he struggled up. With a hiss, the ventilation system kicked in, pumping clean oxygen into the room.

They all stood in silence, gasping for breath. After a few minutes, Tremblay limped over, disheveled and bruised.

"Anyone want to explain what the hell happened?"


	15. Chapter 15

_**A Short Discourse on Recklessness**_

An hour had passed since the activation – and subsequent shutdown - of the GLaDOS. The neurotoxin it had pumped into the room had been vented into the atmosphere safely enough, and the engineers had been examining the computer systems to try and determine what had caused its 'episode'.

Tremblay, still battered from the encounter, had called a meeting in the board room, but so far nothing had been discussed. The scientists sipped at their cups of coffee, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Tremblay spoke. "I need answers."

"Maybe we should wait for the engineers to finish their examination?" Chambers suggested.

"I don't see how it could be a problem with the system. We had a week to check it," said one of the chief engineers. "Admittedly, there's a chance the chassis might have some sort of bug, but I've certainly never seen corruption quite like that."

"You're sure Caroline Rand's memories were erased from the core?" Tremblay asked.

"We can never truly erase them," Doug said. "If we did that, we would lose some of the personality, and, to some extent, the thought patterns. If a core comes into contact with something from their human past, there's a slim chance it could set off memories. I think that's what happened."

"The GLaDOS _did _say it knew you, Dr Tremblay," the engineer agreed.

"And you're sure we can't just wipe clear more of her memory?" asked Tremblay.

"Not a chance," Chambers said. "The reason the procedure killed Rand was because we went as far as we could to get closer to the essence of her mind; and, as such, be able to get rid of more memories without harming the thought process. With our current level of technology, we can't risk any more tampering, lest we do greater damage to the core."

Tremblay sighed and rested his head in his hands.

"What now?"

"We… we could try the other personality constructs," said a woman seated near the back of the room. They all turned to her; she looked young, possibly only just twenty, and her eyes were wide and inquisitive. A small, somewhat shy smile came to her face.

"What are you talking about, Dr Bouchard?" Tremblay said.

"The ones we put the experimental cores in. You know, that little boy, and the old soldier and professor. I always found them intriguing, but when we started on Rand, well, I got distracted. Too many interesting things at once! But anyway, when I was looking at the way the GLaDOS works, I realized the chassis could take more then one core, and that, that the, uh, main 'mind' would be distributed equally amongst them."

"I'm sorry, you're going too quickly. Can you say that again?"

"Basically, you're saying Caroline's mind is outraged with us because it remembers what we did to her daughter, but if we add more cores, their thoughts might balance her out with some positive emotions and memories?" Doug said. Bouchard's face lit up.

"Exactly! Miss Rand's thoughts would still be in charge, but the other cores would influence her. I think we should try it, just to see if it works. Ooh, it sounds so great when you put it that way!"

"Well, those last three cores certainly didn't have what I'd call 'positive emotions'," Tremblay said. "Space obsession, adventure obsession, fact obsession. Hardly going to stop her killing us."

"Of course, we'd have to plan carefully – study lots of different people, determine their attributes," Bouchard said. She had started to tap her feet together rapidly. "Lots of studying - don't want to make it worse! I can get on it right now… Can't I? Really, it might work! Promise!"

Tremblay stood up and nodded.

"It's better then nothing. Dr Bouchard, assemble a team and get on it. The rest of you try and work on a way to safely delete some more of Caroline's memory. Work fast – the press will be paying the machine a visit in three weeks time."

"Three weeks? Sir, that's ridiculous," Chambers said. "Couldn't you have at least waited until we'd tested it?"

"Listen! You're the best of the best – prove it now. I'm not moving the press date. Who knows what Black Mesa can come up with in two weeks? The sooner it's out there, the better," he said, thumping his hand against the table to punctuate his words.

* * *

A week passed. Three personality constructs had been placed on the chassis of GLaDOS, and thrice more the machine had tried to kill the room's occupants.

The 'anger' core had been the first, made from the mind of Fane. He had been whisked from his hospital bed and quickly been subjected to the brain mapping. Bouchard's research into the man's background had revealed a life so wracked with misfortune it had almost seemed satirical. Fane's wife and son had worked as a test associate and subject, respectively, and it was under his mother's care that Fane Jr. had died. Overcome with despair, Mrs. Fane had proceeded to take her own life.

The resulting construct had been a snarling machine which almost seemed to shake with rage. Doug had often wondered why Fane angered so easily; upon seeing what the man actually felt deep down, his puzzlement had turned into admiration for Fane's self-control.

Bouchard had reasoned thus: Fane's core would become the center-point for all of the GLaDOS' anger, and as such, Rand's memories would become mixed in with Fane's. As a result, the cause for GLaDOS' vexation would become more vague, making the machine less likely to target the scientists.

Unsurprisingly, it hadn't worked.

Next Bouchard turned to logic and order, with a young Mr. Ian Lock as her victim. He had been a simple accountant, with a monotonous voice and a knack for handling data. While his core hadn't stopped GLaDOS' murderous tendencies, it had, on the bright side, made it give the scientists detailed figures on the key components of the neurotoxin it used.

Bouchard had then turned her attention to one of GLaDOS' main purposes – to test. She decided that what they needed was a core which would make GLaDOS so intrigued by what the scientists wanted that it wouldn't harm them – at least, not until it got some answers.

Finding no-one to fit the bill, Bouchard had volunteered herself, creating the 'curiosity' core. The GLaDOS had still tried to kill them seconds after it was installed, although this time its motive had been 'to see how humans react when locked in a room with deadly neurotoxin'.

Fane hadn't survived his transfer, much to Doug's horror, due mainly to his severe head injuries. Bouchard and Lock, however, had come through _relatively_ unscathed, reassuring the scientists that a healthy person could survive the process with only marginal brain damage.

Doug stood in front of the GLaDOS, hands in pockets. The three cores were dotted around its hull, optics fixed on him. In his hands were the plans for the morality core, Bouchard's latest plan. The majority of this new construct would be programed to limit GLaDOS' functions, restricting her control over both the facility and, most importantly, the neurotoxin. The rest of its memory would be taken up with the mind of Frieda Tully, a quiet young Scottish woman. Bouchard claimed her kind and peaceful nature would not only keep the GLaDOS from becoming suspicious of the core, but also help calm its anger.

Doug was dubious.

There were only two weeks left. While the prospect of the murderous machine finally prompting the government to shut down Aperture was attractive, he knew it would be too risky. They had to slow GLaDOS down just enough that they'd be able to evacuate the journalists before the neurotoxin claimed them.  
Caring for Chell, however, was taking up so much of his time that he barely had the strength needed to brainstorm. He found it painful to watch the young woman mourning her mother every day before he departed to work, there to add lines of code to the tattered remains of Caroline's mind.

"Dr Rattmann?" a voice called. Doug turned to see a test associate standing behind him, holding a clipboard.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Pendleton has been requesting to see you."

"Pendleton? Where is he?" Doug asked. He had been trying to work up the courage to ask after Wheatley for a while, but could never quite bring himself to speak, a thought that sent a jab of guilt through him.

"He's been in the extended relaxation center. He's been revived today for mandatory physical and mental wellness exercises. As soon as he got up he started asking for you," the associate said, handing Doug an envelope. "The location's in here. You're ordered to keep it secret."

"What do they plan to do with him?"

"Not sure. For a while they were questioning him, but they soon stopped. Personally, I think he's being reserved for testing fodder."

Doug ripped the envelope open and glanced at the relaxation chamber's number before stuffing the paper in his pocket. After thanking the man, he dashed off, relieved to get away from the cores' glaring eyes.

_(I had wanted to spend more time on the individual cores, but unfortunately this story is already too long. Believe it or not this is only the half-way point. Sorry!)_


	16. Chapter 16

_**He Was Designed…**_

Doug watched with raised eyebrows as the guard struggled to open the door. The man looked up from his work and, seeing Doug's expression, coughed lightly.

"We put him in this high security chamber while we were still evaluating whether he was a threat or not," the man explained. "And, well, no-one's been bothered to move him."

Doug sighed as the man turned his attention back to the metal door. It was one in a line of hundreds, stretching down the dim corridor as far as the eye could see. The metal they were constructed from looked worn and stained, but he could tell it had once been of excellent quality.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" the guard said, following Doug's eyes down the row of chamber entrances.

"In more then one way. If any outsiders found out about this place, we'd have lawyers breathing down our necks."

"Ah, we know how to handle things, sir."

"So, can I go in yet?" Doug asked. The man's face flushed. Turning, he gave the handle a final pull, smiling as it finally opened.

"Go ahead," he said. "We'll have a camera monitoring you."

Doug nodded and entered, hearing the man lock the door behind him. The room felt cramped and claustrophobic, despite being practically bare, with a filthy mattress in one corner and a toilet and sink in the other. It was a far cry from the tacky yet comfortable interiors of the other relaxation chambers. A red-lens camera, mounted on the opposite wall, followed his every move.

Wheatley was standing in the center of the room, fidgeting as if unsure how to present himself. A large grin was plastered on his face, though he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"M-Mr. Rattmann! They really let you in?"

"Apparently," Doug said, immediately wishing he hadn't spoken in such a way. Wheatley, however, didn't seem to give it a second thought, rushing forward to shake his hand. He was wearing the same clothes he had on the last time Doug had seen him, his coat still neatly buttoned up.

"Please sit down," Wheatley said, gesturing to a grimy plastic chair beside the door. Doug obediently did so, trying to maintain his smile.

"So how are you... Hang on, what's that square for?" Doug asked, pointing to a small black shape on Wheatley's neck he had not previously noticed.

"_That _is an internal unnerving personification… stimulator," he said, squeezing one eye shut in concentration. His smile had fallen at the mention of the device, and he leaned against the wall, stroking his neck. "It gives you a monstrously accurate hallucination of being in a lemon tree field – what they were using to try and make me speak."

"Lemon grove_, _eh?" Doug said. The memory of the hallucination obviously caused Wheatley some distress.

"A proper big one," Wheatley said. "And you're right in the middle of it; sky's all dark and cloudy. Then the trees start blowing up. _Ab_-solutely terrifying."

"Oh, I see." Then, sympathetically, he added, "Are you alright?"

"I didn't tell them anything," he said quickly. Doug held up his hands.

"Of course not. But are _you _alright?"

"Yeah, well, they didn't have it turned on all that much. After three days they decided I was just some hack Miss Rand had paid to help her. Started calling me 'that unlucky moron'. Hate it when people say that. Stupid hallucinating didn't even hurt! Anyway, I need to ask you some stuff."

"Such as?"

"Um." He cast a swift glance at the camera before mouthing, "_Anybody looking for me?"_

Doug shook his head, deciding the truth would, in the long run, be kinder then false hope. Wheatley bit his lip and looked down.

"Oh. T-That's not what I wanted to ask you really. I want to know what happened to Miss Rand, and ask if Chell's alright."

"Miss Rand ended up agreeing to the brain mapping."

"She didn't have much of a choice, did she," Wheatley said, not lifting his head.

"...Her core's in the GLaDOS now. We're having a few technical difficulties. As for Chell – she's as well as you'd expect. Rand put her in my care, actually."

"Really? You're her guardian now? You wouldn't mind telling her how sorry I am?"

"She wasn't even aware of the situation. An apology would make no sense."

Wheatley nodded and looked around his room forlornly.

"Maybe," Doug said, "maybe you could tell me what happened that day? If it would make you rest easier." At first he hadn't thought too much about their actions, but lately he had realized that, for a man who worked with test chambers, Pendleton's slowness had been curious. And, besides, Doug really _did_ want to help him.

"Well, after… after '_I' _knocked out Mr. Fane, I started trying to get rid of the turrets," Wheatley said, speaking shakily as he tried to avoid mentioning Doug's role. "But I was really worried about him – that was no small scratch, you know, it was a real gash. So I stopped to try and wake him up. It took a few minutes; I was throwing cups of water from the cooler onto his face. He kind of came too – still really groggy – and had forgot most of what had just happened, but he concluded that I'd hit him."

Doug nodded.

"It's understandable that you wanted to help him."

"Not really," Wheatley said. "I mean, he would still have been fine if I left him. No time to help the Rands. I didn't think. It makes no sense, like my brain's hardwired to do the worst possible thing."

Doug's eyes widened as the idea came to him. It was as if Wheatley's words had removed a log-jam from his mind. He tore himself away from his thoughts to reply.

"Maybe it wasn't only your fault."

Wheatley looked up at him.

"Even if you don't tell Chell 'bout all that, will you tell her I said hello? Or, err, something like that."

"Anything you want."

"Thanks, mate." Wheatley leaned back against the wall again. "You know, I'm so used to people getting mad at me for making mistakes, it didn't half throw me off when she thanked me for the botched-up job I did on her snapped arm. Anyway, I, uh, suppose you'll want to get back to work then."

Doug stood up and slowly turned to the door. Eager as he was to inform Tremblay and Bouchard of his idea, he couldn't simply leave without a word.

"There's nothing you want?" he asked, somewhat feebly.

"Nope, don't you go worrying about me, sir. Remember, I'm not too shabby when it comes to hacking; I've got a plan to lull them into a false sense of security before I make my move," he whispered. Doug looked back at him, unsure whether he was being serious or not. Maybe Wheatley didn't know himself.

"Good luck," he said, as the guard opened the door a crack to let him out. The last thing Doug saw of Wheatley before the door closed was him standing in the middle of the room like a man lost in the wilderness, gnawing on his nails.

* * *

"So what's this incredible idea, Dr Rattmann?" Bouchard asked as the scientists found their seats around the table in the board room. She was the only one still bubbling over with energy. The others all had a weary air about them, no longer bothering to straighten their skew-whiff clothes or slick back loose strands of hair. If Doug's plan failed, the morality core would be the only thing left to rely on; the scientists were too mentally exhausted to generate new ideas.

"Well, when Dr Tremblay was talking me through the plans for the morality core, I must admit I wasn't convinced. Yes, the way it will block the GLaDOS from tapping into the neurotoxin supply is very clever..." Here he forced a smile, refraining from pointing out that they should have done that to begin with, "...but this is a highly advanced computer we're dealing with. If it wanted to, it could probably break the toxin tank and let the poison wind its way to us.  
I started thinking about the way Mr. Johnson would approach this – what was one of the things he was obsessed with?"

"Black Mesa?" someone suggested.

"Shower curtains?"

"Asbestos!"

"Lemons?"

"Tumors?"

"That's it. Tumors," Doug said, feeling his faith in his colleagues sinking. "While we continue work on the morality core, we should create something to slow GLaDOS down, make sure we're one step ahead of it. When morality is in place, then maybe we can consider removing this 'tumor'. But who knows, it might help; dumb GLaDOS down enough that it won't consider trying to destroy the morality core. We might even claim the tumor _is _morality. Yes, that's it, convince it that the tumor is morality."

"And what were you thinking of for the tumor?" Tremblay asked.

"Another core. Something designed to fill GLaDOS with terrible ideas, slowly bring her down, something that will consistently make bad decisions."

"Like… the biggest moron ever?" Bouchard said. She was balanced on the very edge of her seat, hands clenched over her knees. "That sounds brilliant! I'm thinking multiple scenario generators, maybe paired with a mild virus?"

"As I said, its main purpose would be to distract GLaDOS from the morality core. 'Biggest moron ever' is an exaggeration, but mild stupidity would work," Doug said, upon noticing the concern etched onto Tremblay's face.

"It's a ridiculous notion, Dr Rattmann," he said. "But at this stage, I think we need all the help we can get. I'll pass your idea; we will definitely have to use brain mapping again. Artificial intelligences take longer to make, and they aren't as flexible. Besides, a bit of human error would add to it."

Doug felt his fortitude start to fail. "But sir," he began weakly.

"But me no buts, Doug. Dr Bouchard, we'll need your special touch again," Tremblay said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, sir!" Bouchard said, either ignoring or missing his sarcasm. "And you'll be pleased to know that I have the perfect man for this! We can get his mind downloaded right now!"

"You don't say. Well, who have you got in mind?"

"A certain test associate I've read about – Wheatley Pendleton."

_("Safety first. Are you right handed or left?")_


	17. Chapter 17

_(Thank you for your reviews!) _

_**Potato Power**_

Doug sat in his studio, holding his brush just above the canvas, watching as drops of paint dribbled onto the white surface. He had arrived home late; the brain mapping operation had been trickier then expected. Due to time constraints, they had used an older personality construct model to house Pendleton's core, a type built for show rather then practicality. Much of its design was dedicated to accurately mirroring the 'emotions' of the core, leaving them with limited space to add the special programming to ensure it would make the worst possible decisions.

Despite the trouble this had caused, the core had ended up a triumph. Its general mannerisms were a perfect replication of Pendleton's, right down to the occasional stammer and misplaced word.

Doug began to paint, trying to concentrate on the picture. Whenever he let his control slip, his mind would inevitably begin dwelling on Pendleton; his terrified face was still fresh in Doug's memory. From there, he would start thinking about the core; B-9, or the intelligence dampening sphere, as the scientists had nicknamed it. Apart from the obvious visual change, it was practically identical to the man it had once been; the accent, the constant chatter, even the ornithophobia. They had even managed to clean up the voice synthesizer, making it sound indistinguishable from a human.  
At one point after its creation, Doug had turned away from it to check how Wheatley was doing. All he heard during the few seconds it took to check the man's monitor was the core's nattering voice, a perfect recreation, so realistic it had almost made him jump.

And now Wheatley had been added to the rows of people in stasis - because of him.

Doug sighed and leaned back in his chair, spinning the brush in the palms of his hands. There was a knock on the door, and he turned to see Chell pushing it open, a can of soup in her hands.

"Oh, sorry sir, I didn't know you were working," she said, already backing out.

"No, there's no trouble. I wouldn't exactly call this work. And please, call me Doug."

"Okay, sir. I was wondering if I could use this?" she asked, holding out the soup.

"Sure." He turned back, then, realizing how late it was, quickly stood up.

"Hang on! Sorry, I'm coming. I'll get you something proper."

Doug took the can from her hands and led her into the kitchen, where he started scouring the cupboards for ideas.

"So, what were you painting?" Chell asked, taking a seat at the small wooden table. Although still nervous to do anything without asking his permission beforehand, she was beginning to show the first signs of settling down.

"A man that used to work at Aperture. I, uh, suppose he still does, in a way."

"Have you ever sold any of your paintings?"

"A few. Old pieces, when I was in college. Not anymore, though. I'm afraid most people find my style rather off-putting." He paused to place two potatoes in the microwave. When he turned back, he saw Chell was biting her lip.

"Something wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said, her eyes settling on a spot on the floor. Doug looked at the work surface, trying to figure out what had disconcerted her, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Slowly, he sat down opposite her.

A few minutes later, after they had eaten, Doug decided to try and re-initiate the conversation.

"My boss asked me to give you this," he said, handing her an envelope Tremblay had given him. She reached out for it with her bad arm; the doctors had told her to let it rest, but she had all but ignored the advice, for it was her dominant hand.

After carefully opening it, she pulled out a garish flyer and started to read. Once finished, she passed it back to him, her face expressionless. Doug kept his eyes on her for a moment before looking down at the leaflet.

'_Aperture Science Annual Bring Your Daughter to Work Day & GLaDOS Launch'. _

Doug shut his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing to read. Most of the leaflet was just a flowery note to all Aperture employees inviting them bring their daughters in to witness the activation of GLaDOS, with a science project competition beforehand. Someone, presumably Tremblay, had glued a note onto the end, inviting Chell to come as well.

'_A way of showing how much science appreciates your parents' sacrifices.'_

Doug looked up at the girl, sitting motionlessly as she stared at her plate.

"You don't have to go," he said, desperately hoping she would take his offer. If the combination of Wheatley and the morality sphere failed to quell GLaDOS' murderous inclinations, he didn't want her anywhere near the center. Knowing that Tremblay was incapable to listen to reason, he had purloined some of the enrichment center's blueprints, studying them to determine which locations would provide suitable evacuation points. Fortunately, a good deal of the place was out of GLaDOS' direct control. Moving a wave of hysterical people to these areas wouldn't be easy, though, and subsequent escape would be even tougher, as most of these safe points were situated quite deep underground.  
And besides, he'd already made so many mistakes.

"They're really turning it on?" Chell asked, brow furrowing.

"Yes. We're putting on the finishing touches."

She nodded and tapped her fork against her fingertips.

"I'll go."

"N-No one's forcing you."

"No, I want to."

"You're quite sure?" Doug said, struggling to accept her acquiescence.

"Yes; very sure. Ever since ma told me about the GLaDOS I had always expected I'd get to see it at some point. But now, what with... with everything that's happened, I didn't think I'd get to see it in person."

She looked up, face tense.

"Is that alright?"

"…Yes, I'm sure we'll be able to... manage."

"Sure?"

Doug sighed before leaning back in his chair, forcing himself to smile.

"Yes, not a problem."

"Then why did you sigh?"

Doug blinked.

"Just now," she continued. "If there's something wrong, please be honest about it."

"I just don't know if it's healthy – emotionally healthy – for you to immerse yourself in Aperture's environment again." He intertwined his fingers; what he had said was true, but a part of him felt guilty for refusing to expound the full details of the situation.

Chell folded her arms and looked down at the table.

"I can handle anything."

"I don't doubt your maturity. I just don't want to cause you needless pain."

Chell scratched the side of her chin.

"I just want to…" She paused. "Give me a minute, I can't think of the right words. Oh, forget it; I don't know what to say that won't sound silly."

"You won't sound silly, Chell. Just give it a moment."

The girl dug her nails into her arms.

"I don't think I can get on with things unless I've seen the GLaDOS project reach its conclusion. It was the last thing ma ever worked on; I just want to see them finish it, so I won't have to think about it ever again. If I don't, I'll just keep imagining what it must be like, and that will make me think of ma."

She glanced up at Doug, before quickly averting her eyes again.

"I know it's wicked of me, but I just want to forget about ma and pa. If I keep thinking about them, it'll stop me doing things; make me think about how they might have died. It just will. And I can't be scared."

She sighed and looked at him.

"You probably think I'm horrible."

"Of course I don't. I well know how easy it is to let your circumstances, emotional and mental, hold you back. Believe me, I know."

"It's cowardly."

"Well, if you just sit back and let it control you, then yes, I suppose it is cowardly. But you're not doing that; it seems to me that you've got more then enough tenacity to fight anything that blocks your path. I rather wish I could be the same."

"That's why I asked you what my chances are for becoming some sort of scientist, back when I first arrived. When I think about the laboratory, it makes me scared, and I know how irrational that is. I think it's the only thing I'm truly scared of, and I can't live with myself knowing I have a fear."

"Was there truth in what you told me about emulating your parents' scientific sacrifices?"

"A bit, I suppose. I'm proud that they were brave enough to do things to themselves, so they could make products to help other people. That's what science is about, or at least some of it, right? I want to be brave like that, but if I start thinking about what happened to them, I'll never do anything courageous. So, yes, I want to go. Get it over and done with."

Doug nodded and stood up.

"If you change your mind, please tell me. And, for what it's worth, I don't think you need to worry about showing your bravery. At the very least, you've proved it to me."

Chell nodded.

"Thank you sir… Doug."

_("Guilt levels are off the charts, sir!")_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Bring Your Daughter to Work Day  
**_

Chell took a few steps back from her potato battery stand and sighed. Doug had insisted she use her good arm to write with but, due to being unused to working with her right hand, the words had come out as a messy scrawl. That, however, was the least of her problems. Looking to the side, she saw the other girls' projects were all potato batteries as well. One child had made a baking soda volcano, and was standing next to it with a smug grin, occasionally glancing at the vegetables with raised eyebrows.

Doug came up behind her and smiled.

"It looks impressive, Chell."

Chell looked up at him with a slight frown.

"I'm being serious!" he said.

"Yeah, well, the judges are hardly going to notice it. I told you I should have done a lemon. I'm putting my money on the volcano."

"You just wait until they read your observations. It'll floor them," he said, readjusting the box in his arms. "Right, I've got a few things that need taking care of; remember, don't stray too far."

"I know, you keep telling me. What's in the box?"

"Eh, nothing important. Anyway, you have some time before it begins. Why don't you talk to some of the other girls? Make some friends?" Doug said, smiling and walking off in the direction of the GLaDOS chamber.

Chell bit her lip and sat down on one of the rickety plastic chairs provided for the journalists' use. For a while she watched in silence as the photographers prepared their cameras for the big event, occasionally taking snaps of the girls next to their science projects. Some of the important scientists' daughters had congregated into a small 'elite' group, but Chell had no desire to join them. In her mind, the whole thing was a charade; all she wanted to do was see the GLaDOS with her own eyes.

Her head had begun to loll when she heard a familiar voice. Standing up, she looked around, moving in the direction it had come from while trying not to knock over the reporters' expensive equipment which crowded every spare inch of the floor.

"I'm just saying they're going to get restless, alright? No harm in a bit of light entertainment, which I could easily provide. Just so you know," the voice continued. Chell smiled; there was no doubt that it was Pendleton speaking.

Pushing through the crowd, she found herself standing next to a tall, balding man whose face was lined with a permanent scowl, the result of years of dealing with infuriating lackeys. A spherical metal object hung from the ceiling just outside the doorway, and it was from this that Pendleton's voice seemed to be emanating.

"Excuse me?" Chell said. The man whipped around, took one look at her, and started waving at the machine.

"Go!" he said to it.

"Look here," it said, "I don't much care for…"

"_Leave!_"

"Fine, fine! _Honestly_, humans!" And with that, it scooted off down the hall. The man loosened his shirt collar and turned back to Chell.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Doctor Henry Tremblay, head of genetic lifeform research."

Chell's jaw dropped, but she quickly regained her composure and shook his hand.

"You're really Dr Tremblay?"

"The one and only."

"I've been following your work for a while, it's brilliant. I… Sorry, I'm Chell Rand."

"Oh yes, I know about you. I was a friend of your mother's. My deepest condolences."

"Thanks," Chell said dryly. She usually despised platitudes, but now she bit her tongue and tried to think of a way to guide the conversation elsewhere.

"May I ask what that machine was?"

"That? Oh, nothing really. A simple beta model for the core technology. We call it B-9."

"Its voice reminded me of a man I met here once."

"Yes, well, we sometimes get folks from around the office to make some recordings. Saves money. Your mother provided the voice for the turrets."

Chell nodded, staring after the machine. Tremblay sidestepped in front of her, giving a smile that strained his skin.

"Anything I can get you? A drink, maybe?"

"That would be nice, thank you," she said.

Once he had dashed off, she proceeded cautiously down the hallway, keeping her eyes on the metal rail which ran along the ceiling. She was halfway down the poorly lit corridor when the sphere dropped down from the roof. With a startled yelp, she fell backwards, her eyes smarting as the bright blue glare from its optic illuminated her face.

"'Ello? You alright down there?" it asked. Chell blinked and stood up, wincing and rubbing her elbows. A metal 'eyelid' of sorts lifted up under the machine's optic, giving the impression of a smile.

"Oh, good. Thought your little primate heart might have stopped, or something. You're a pretty sensitive lot, aren't you? Still, at least you're fine."

Chell looked up in amazement as it moved closer to her, still 'smiling'. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wasn't even sure if it would understand her.

"You, uh, going to say something? Anything?" it asked. She remained silent.

"Right, then. Um, introductions…" It paused, looked up at the ceiling, and started speaking slowly in the manner of someone talking to a foreigner. "Hello, my name is…"

"Wheatley?" Chell said, blurting it out without thinking twice.

"Huh! Nice name, I like that. And _I_ am core B-9."

"No, I'm _Chell. _You're Wheatley. Wait, no, hang on."

"Not sure what you mean. I wish, though; it's a great name."

Chell rested her hand on the wall and laughed shakily. She tilted her head, trying to grasp how the little thing worked. It squinted and tilted itself as well, and despite the lack of facial features, she realized it was just as curious about her as she was of it.

"You're a bit unusual," it said at last. "No offense, of course, but all the other humans I've met so far – they're different. Much more formal, you know what they want from you. _Is _there anything you want?"

"Well, you're a pretty incredible piece of technology. I'm interested in how you work, I guess. Mr. Rattmann managed to get me a picture of what the GLaDOS looks like now, and you look an awful lot like those things they have attached to it."

"Ah, yes. Personality constructs, if you want the full name. And I am indeed one of them. Unlike the ones attached to _her, _though, I transmit things directly into the memory banks. No need to hang me on her like some sort of common gewgaw. _I_ can go wherever I want. Sort of. I just follow the rail, really; but I'm still more important then those other cores."

"Can it talk back to you?"

"Oh yes. They switched her on to see if I was affecting her in any way, and she started filling me with all this _horrible_ stuff. Once she's on permanently, I think I'm just going to ignore her."

"What is it you actually do?"

The robot paused and looked away, its top eyelid lowering.

"I, uh... just have to keep supplying her with suggestions and thoughts. Anything, really; as long as I keep talking to her they're happy. Yeah."

Chell nodded, still fixated on B-9. It was glancing at her occasionally, seemingly unnerved by her stare.

"Right, well, good luck with the potato batteries," it said at last. It was just swiveling around to leave when Tremblay came up the corridor, holding a large paper cup of red liquid. At the sight of B-9, he tightened his grip on the cup.

"B-9, I told you to leave! Remember, if you talk to a child long enough, you'll die."

A diaphragm shutter built into B-9's eye plate closed around its optic, leaving a small pinpoint of light.

"You never told me that one before! Why didn't you? Oh gosh." It turned quickly to Chell. "Nice meeting you," it said before zipping down the hall, the metal rail squeaking like an injured rodent.

Tremblay shook his head and presented the cup to Chell.

"Would it really have broken down?" she asked him as she took a sip.

"Of course not. It's far too valuable for that. We only tell it things like that to make it behave. It's also convinced that it'll die if it disengages from its management rail."

Chell wrinkled her nose; it was a creative solution, but she couldn't help thinking it had an edge of cruelty. She tried to shake the thought. The core might have acted like a sentient creature, but it was all simulated. It couldn't actually feel fear – or so she hoped.

Taking another sip and bidding Tremblay goodbye, she made her way back to the main room and slumped down onto a chair. Her head was feeling stuffy, as if a hot mist was trapped inside her skull. Thinking it was dehydration, she took a few more gulps of the liquid before placing the cup by the chair leg.

A few minutes later, she had passed out.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Dangerous Mute Lunatics**_

Chell awoke in the same room, on the same chair, with a throbbing pain in her neck and the nagging suspicion that she had been moved. Looking down, she saw her glass was gone.

She stood up, took a step, then fell back almost immediately as her vision darkened. For a while she sat, gasping and holding her reeling head. Once she had plucked up the courage, she opened her eyes, still clasping her ears. The room was empty of both people and equipment, leaving only the science projects. Curiosity overwhelming pain, she staggered forward, leaning on the presentations for support and noticing that a blue and orange ribbon now adorned her potato battery.

The following minutes were a blur of panic and vertigo. Chell jogged down the corridors, desperately trying to locate someone while trying to figure out what had happened while she had been unconscious. Her body stank of chemicals, antiseptic and diethyl ether. It was the welling ache in her throat which truly scared her, though. Her neck felt painful and numb, as if she'd been given something to ease the discomfort. Whatever it was, it was wearing off.

Chell dashed round a corner, her head nearly colliding with B-9. After taking one look at her, it started to lift itself into a square hole in the ceiling. She opened her mouth with the intention of calling to it, but all that came out was a wet gasp. Reacting quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the machine's handles, forcing it back down.

"F-Fine! You win, let me go!" it said, trembling slightly. Chell released it and collapsed against the wall, feeling like a long nail had been drilled through her temples.

"What's wrong?" B-9 asked, lowering himself down further and examining her face. She tried to speak again, but still nothing came out. In the end, she tapped her neck to indicate her predicament.

"Uh, sore throat? Oh, you're ill! 'Course. No fear, I know all about stuff like that – medic-y things. I suppose you'll be wanting to find whoever takes care of you. They're all with _her _at the moment, getting ready. If you hurry you might be able to catch them. Cheerio."

It retreated again, and Chell had to wave her arms wildly to stop it. Once she had its attention, she started to outline the words '_where is it?" _in the air with her finger.

"W-N… No, H… I- and… F? No? Oh, _where is it_, got it. Well, I'll be honest, after what Tremblay told me about you, added with the prospect of going to _her room…_ I don't really want to go. Can't you figure it out on your own?"

Chell groaned and sank to the floor, her patience spent. Tears of frustration and agony started to fill her eyes, and she had just covered her face with her arms when she felt cold metal against her skin. Looking up, she saw B-9 gently nudging her shoulder.

"Come on, don't cry! They'll think I upset you. Seriously, calm down, I'll take you. If you don't say anything to me, maybe it will postpone the dying. Can't really be called 'talking' if you don't talk back, right?"

Chell rubbed the back of her hand over her face and nodded.

"Come on, then."

Standing up, she started following the small machine.

* * *

With Tremblay's attention distracted by the eager crowd of journalists, Doug ripped the tape from the cardboard box he had squashed beneath the computer desks outside the chamber. With a sigh of relief, he saw that the respirators within were undamaged. Carefully pushing them further out of sight, he entered the room and took up position with the rest of the scientists standing at the left of the GLaDOS. Between smiling awkwardly for the cameras, he scanned the shuffling lines of people, unable to catch even a glimpse of Chell.

Tremblay stood on the platform beneath the machine with his hands clasped together - a stark contrast to the frantic man who had been snapping at them all morning.

"May I have your attention, please?" he said, raising his voice so as to be heard over the excited babble. All eyes immediately turned to him. He grinned broadly.

"Thank you! That's right, save some film for later – GLaDOS will be able to pose for you then!"

One or two half-hearted chuckles had the effect of deflating him somewhat. Clearing his throat, he continued.

"Well, it's been fourteen years since we started work on it, and now we can present you with the finished product. Aperture Science is proud to present the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System – GLaDOS!"

He paused to give his audience time to applaud. One of the reporters stepped forward.

"Dr Tremblay, could you briefly summarize the early days of your research? Any particular landmarks?"

"Of course," Tremblay said, obviously pleased. "Here at the Aperture Science enrichment center, we rigorously examined the question of artificial intelligence, and by 1991 we had created out first A.I, 'Hoopy'. It was elementary, admittedly, but before long everything in the facility had been upgraded with advanced intelligence programming. Indeed, most everything you see around you is sentient, many possessing unique personalities and free will; yes, even the doors can refuse your requests. GLaDOS was built to oversee this complex setup - but it is also able to preserve a human being's thought process and personality. If I can draw your attention to these spheres…"

He gestured to the cores attached to the hull, and the photographers rushed around like ants, trying to find prime positions from which to take pictures.

"The personality constructs were our experiments. Here you can see the minds of three people seamlessly interwoven into the computer programming. These ones in particular are designed to regulate the GLaDOS' tables, but each has the thought processes of the brain they were taken from. We also used them to practice the addition and subtraction of certain traits and habits, modifying the being to suit our requirements. We eventually perfected the brain mapping procedure and created the marvel of technology that you see before you today. We hope that someday this operation will become a widespread practice, the threshold to immortality."

Tremblay held his fist in the air to punctuate his speech, pausing in the hope that someone would catch his dramatic pose and use it in a poster someday. Leaning casually on the rail, he waited, ready to absorb the praise; none came. The audience exchanged awkward looks, and eventually the journalist who had initially spoken raised his hand.

"But Dr Tremblay, aren't you and your team, well, concerned about the ethical side of things?"

Tremblay's brow wrinkled.

"I assure you, everyone we used to test the procedure on was fully compliant. I have the documents to prove it."

"I don't doubt that, doctor. I'm talking about what you said just now, about this technology becoming a common thing, and being able to remove parts of someone's personality from their construct. Have you considered the moral implications? You have to admit that people have always found a way to abuse inventions like this."

Tremblay folded his arms.

"As much as I would like to continue this conversation, time is not on our side. We can continue once the GLaDOS has been activated. Don't want to keep the children waiting, do we?"

Several of the girls voiced their agreement, and Tremblay nodded, ignoring the journalist's attempts to object.

"Right. Dr Chambers, please begin the activation sequence."

Chambers nodded and rushed over to the computers outside the chamber. Doug leaned towards Bouchard and tapped her shoulder.

"Tremblay said 'three'," he whispered. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that bad?"

"Well, where's the other core?"

"The intelligence dampening sphere? You know we couldn't attach him, Dr Rattmann! She'd destroy him in seconds!"

"No, the other one… Morality?"

"We couldn't finish it in time. We'll put it on as soon as it's ready. Hey, don't worry!" she said, seeing the fear on his face. "B-9 will have had plenty of time to dumb her down."

Doug looked up, perspiration already running down his forehead. He saw Chell running into the chamber, and it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her and leaving at that very second. That, of course, was not an option, and he started to mentally go over his evacuation plan. He had managed to convince a few others to assist him, but the number was small; most had disregarded him as paranoid, deciding that he hadn't taken his pills.

Before he had time to think any further, the GLaDOS lifted its head.


	20. Chapter 20

_(Sorry for the delays again!)  
_

_**Saving Science**_

"Hello again, doctor. I remember that the last time we talked, I had asked you to shut down that new mobile core which keeps transmitting to me. So why can I still hear it?"

Tremblay glanced away from the GLaDOS to see how the journalists were reacting so far. The majority of them stared on in astonishment, but some, including the children, had shuffled back with looks of terror on their faces. Hastily putting it down to the uncanny valley effect, he looked back up at the computer.

"Now, GLaDOS, you know I can't do that, you need core B-9."

"I know you think I need a morality core, but I was hoping it would prove to be a little more intelligent then this. I don't like having to use your old friend, doctor, but if you don't stop that little idiot broadcasting…"

"There's no need for any of that, GLaDOS," he said, cutting in. "Look, you have visitors."

GLaDOS continued to glare at Tremblay.

"I see you set up a sort of competition in the lobby, 'bring your daughter to work day'."

"Yes. To celebrate your activation."

"Is there something special about this particular activation? It seems to be panning out the same way as all the others."

"Well, this is the first time members of the public have been allowed to see you."

"Oh, that _is _special." GLaDOS looked up and carefully studied the crowd.

"If I'd known, I would have thought of a way to help with the celebrations. I know, how about a surprise?"

There were a few mutters from the audience; the majority seemed to endorse the idea, and someone called out, "Let's see what the computer's got!"

Tremblay was already shaking his head, but he kept quiet. Doug stepped forward instead.

"GLaDOS, listen to me, now! Do _not_ try anything!" he said. GLaDOS turned to him.

"Really, now, doctor. You said these people are my visitors. No, make that _my_ _guests. _It's only polite to show them hospitality. You all like surprises, do you not?"

The journalists called out their agreement, convinced that this was prime material for their reports.

"Good. Now close your eyes," GLaDOS said. Everyone, even some of the scientists, did so. Tremblay and Doug, however, had already guessed where it was going. They caught each others eyes and had just moved to start coaxing people out when GLaDOS lowered two large claws from the ceiling. Within seconds she had their heads clamped firmly between the icy metal fingers.

"That's right, don't move," she said, still speaking in a calm tone. Doug felt his mouth run dry, muscles twitching as he concentrated on remaining perfectly still. An image of his skull cracking like parched ground filled his mind, despite his attempts to shake it.

"Deploying surprise in five…"

Chell pushed through the crowd towards Doug.

"Four…"

She grabbed his arm.

"Three…"

And hugged it tightly.

"Two…"

While staring up at the claw.

"One."

The ducts spewed out a thick fog of neurotoxin. It flooded down the walls like a waterfall, never letting up. There were screams as people felt the vile stuff invade their systems, and even those who didn't feel the immediate effects hollered at the mere sight of the billowing gas.

Doug held Chell's shoulders, about to tell her where he had hidden the respirators, when he saw she was grinning. She pointed repeatedly at his head and, looking up, he saw the claws had retracted.

Without stopping to question this turn of events, he grabbed Chell and, hobbling slightly under her weight, ran to the entrance. B-9 hung just outside the chamber, optic shrunk in fear.

"Good grief, that's a relief," it said as Doug dropped Chell and pulled the box out from under the desk. "I didn't think I could effect her actions that much! A whole claw in my control, wow! Eh, well, if she brings out more, I definitely won't be able to… Oh, hell, I think she just locked me out."

"Anything you can do about the toxin?" Doug asked, not looking up.

"Nothing. You know, you really should have given me some control over the chassis. I mean, if you can give me a bloomin' torch that I can't use, well…"

"B-9, can you start calling people over here?" Doug asked, fitting both himself and Chell with a respirator.

"No prob."

"Good, I'll join you in a second. Chell, stay with B-9." With that, he ran back into the melee of the GLaDOS chamber, box under his arm. Chell had opened her mouth to stop him, but words were still refusing to form in her throat. Instead, she gave B-9 a reassuring pat and followed Doug, locating fallen ones and helping them crawl towards the exit.

Doug felt hands clawing at him, groping for the life-saving contents of the box. Every time he reached out with a respirator for a child or an incapacitated man, it would be roughly torn from his grasp; seconds later, the thief would be swallowed up by a swarm of suffocating people.

Feeling a hand scraping at his arm, he turned and saw Chambers, her eyes bulging. He passed her one of the masks, and she shoved it over her face, gasping and coughing.

"We have to leave," she said between chokes. "Dump those on the floor and let's go."

"Go ahead; I'll try to help some of them out."

"No time! Look!"

GLaDOS was lowering more claws into the chamber, delicately picking up and suspending people in the air.

"It's taking everyone with a respirator. If we stay any longer it'll get us."

After a second of hesitation, Doug threw the empty box to one side and, picking up a young girl on crutches, followed Chambers to the entrance.

Tremblay stood waiting for them, surrounded by a group of shaking scientists and journalists. B-9 had hitched itself up against the ceiling, staring at the GLaDOS. A few children hung onto their parent's hands, while some were left to cry alone. A test associate stepped forward and took the girl from Doug's arms, thanking him profusely.

"I can still see you out there," GLaDOS said. "You can't escape. Or maybe you plan on staying exactly where you are for the rest of your lives?"

"Dr Tremblay, I know what to do," Doug said, trying to sound more confident then he felt.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, just give me a second, I need to find Chell."

Tremblay grabbed Doug by his collar, forcing him to look into the dark eye sockets of the respirator.

"_Now. _If she's still in there, she's dead."

Doug attempted to escape his grasp, but Tremblay was surprisingly strong for a man of his age. He adjusted his grip so that his thumbs were pressing against Doug's windpipe.

"Fine, let go," he said, feeling his breath beginning to leave him. Tremblay did so, still watching him carefully.

"Follow me," Doug said, taking a final look at the chamber and leading them down the glass corridor towards the main bulk of the facility. After some hesitation they followed, many still staggering. None of his allies seemed to have survived the slaughter, leaving him to carry out the evacuation alone. The survivors huddled together, following him slowly as they tried to support the struggling ones. He looked up at B-9, who was scooting along the rail just above his head.

"If you can impede any of GLaDOS' functions, do it. Even the simplest thing might help."

"I'll try," B-9 said. "It's hard, though. She's already trying to tap into some of the functions you blocked her from using. Tapping pretty successfully, I might add."

"Just keep trying," Doug said as they entered one of the open catwalk areas. Before long they had reached a small workshop, filled with prototype turrets and stacks of storage cubes. Shoving some of the machines aside, he pulled out a weighted companion cube and started to unscrew one of the heart plates.

"This is your plan? How does this help us?!" Tremblay said, kicking the leg of a nearby table and sending a collection of tools cascading across the floor.

"Quiet!" one of the journalists said, flapping his hands. "It might hear you!"

"What?"

"GL... the computer!"

Tremblay bared his teeth and looked down at Doug as if he were an unpleasant stain on his shoes.

"Have you finally cracked?"

Doug bit his lip and opened the cube, checking the supplies he had stored inside. Once satisfied, he closed the plate and strapped the cube onto his back using the sling of fabric he had fitted earlier.

"This, sir, is the safety precaution. If you've ever looked at the blueprints of this place, you'll know every exit is fitted with a security camera, each of which GLaDOS can access. Another one of your bright ideas," he added. "It might be leaving us alone for the moment, but that won't last long, especially if we enter areas she has direct control over. We're going to have to find a place were she can't touch us, then plan our next moves. And we have no idea how long that will take, so I thought some supplies might _help_."

"You planned that already? Wow! Can you predict the future?" said one of the girls, wiping tears from her cheeks. There was a pause, before Tremblay continued.

"Where should we head towards then, Doug?" he said.

"We need to get behind one of the testing tracks. It's hard to explain."

"I know what you mean!" Wheatley said, sounding quite cheerful at having finally figured out what they were talking about. "My management rail goes by the outsides of the tests at points. I'll be able to open and close the panels in that area, find a nice spot where she can't get at you. No-one would ever think of looking there, anyway!"


	21. Chapter 21

_(...and yet more delays. I'm really sorry. :( )  
_

_**If I Didn't Care**_

Doug carefully placed the companion cube on the floor, glad to be free of the weight. He sat down next to it, wincing as pain coursed through his muscles. For a while he watched as the survivors settled themselves down, children with their parents, orphans huddled together. Cautiously, one by one, people started to remove their respirators. Doug did so as well, giving a sigh of contentment as the cool air hit his sweaty face.

"This is where we'll be staying?" said Tremblay, circling the room.

"Yes," B-9 said. "We're on one of the tracks built for testing that new gun thing, just behind chamber 24."

"Can't we get in there? There's hardly room to breath in this place."

"Yeah, I suppose you think I can get rid of her cameras."

"Well why can't you?"

"Uh, last time I checked, you told me I would die if I hacked one!"

Doug sighed and rested his head on the side of the cube, wishing they would stop talking. The journey to the testing tracks had been hellish, with GLaDOS hanging over them like a scientist toying with lab rats. Three of their number had been taken, another injured, and now, just when Doug thought they had found respite, Tremblay had started complaining.

"Henry," Doug said, standing and placing a hand on Tremblay's shoulder. "Let's just catch a second of peace while we can."

Tremblay whispered something inaudible and turned to face him.

"There's no time. I need to find a way to fix the GLaDOS before the system corruption damages the facility beyond repair. We might be able to fit an expendable core in the body for a while, let it take on the virus while we mend Caroline's."

"You honestly want to salvage that _thing?" _said a journalist, thrusting a finger in the air as if GLaDOS was in the room with them at that very moment.

"What do you expect?" Tremblay said, all politeness towards the reporters evaporating. "While you were busy covering Black Mesa's mediocre plans, _we_ were pouring time and effort into this project! Why shouldn't I try to save it? You haven't seen the work that went into its creation."

Having heard enough of their argument, Doug rubbed his forehead with the sleeve of his coat and wandered across the room, too frazzled to even think of escape. B-9 skirted overhead and, having moved a few panels aside, disappeared into the next section of testing track. Doug wandered through after it, grimacing as the feud grew more voluble.

The section he entered was much the same as the last, constructed from a metal with a garish yellow hue. B-9 hung in the corner, staring at the floor.

"Escaping the noise?" Doug said, walking up to it. B-9 glanced at him and, without speaking, positioned a panel to act as a rudimentary seat.

"Thank you, B-9," Doug said, sitting down and laying his respirator on the floor.

"Wheatley."

"Sorry?"

"If it's no skin off your nose, I'd like to be called Wheatley from now on."

Doug peered at the machine with raised eyebrows.

"Err, whatever you want," he said. He didn't feel like questioning the preferences of a machine, and besides, it felt more natural to address B-9 by his human name. "Where did you hear of it?"

"One of the girls at the science competition called me it. Poor thing's probably dead now – that or being tested. Not much of a difference, really."

"Chell?"

"Yes – pretty tall, slightly pudgy."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that. I told her to stay with you, didn't I? What happened?"

"She went rushing off after you. Not much I could have done about it – no arms, and all that."

"Yes, but did you see what happened to her?" Doug said, rising to his feet.

Wheatley turned away.

"She was taken, lifted up by one of those metal claws. I didn't tell you in case you started worrying."

"What made you think that was a good idea?" Doug said, raising his voice. Wheatley glanced sideways at him with a slight hint of reproach.

"There's no need to shout."

"I've managed to stay calm all day; I think I'm entitled to shout by now!"

Doug kept his eyes fixed on Wheatley's optic, his fists clenched. Behind the wall, he could hear the debaters gradually falling quiet.

"How did she look when she was taken?" he said at last, trying to keep his voice steady.

"She had her respirator on, a few bruises. I must confess, I don't think she was entirely in the right; when I had met with her earlier, she hadn't spoken a word - almost like she was mute."

"I'm afraid the robot's right, doctor," came a voice from behind. Doug turned and saw Dr Chambers slipping through the gap, her face tense.

"Go on," he said. The short burst of anger was subsiding, replaced with a dread that gnawed away at his innards like a rat at a corpse.

"After the event with Miss Rand, Dr Tremblay had become suspicious of you. He didn't think you would try and keep the girl from speaking. Just a few moments ago, before the activation, he drugged her and cut out her vocal cords. I'm afraid I... helped him."

Doug blinked and sat back down. Chambers paused for a moment, waiting to see how he reacted, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"We knew the girl would tell someone when she realized something was wrong, and had a document forged, ready to be hid in your workplace. To make it look like you'd let some underground biology ward use her in return for a hefty sum."

"He really is mad," Doug said under his breath. Chambers bit her lips, making a smudge in the perfectly applied lipstick.

"You have to understand," she said, unable to hold her silence. "He was doing it for the company. If you or she had spoken, we'd be dead."

"That's the way it's turned out, regardless. The _wreckage of recklessness_."

Chambers' face flushed red, and she turned to leave the room.

"That's why I told you. It doesn't make any difference now. Dr Tremblay is convinced we can get out of this, but I know it's futile."

"Why such a defeatist, doctor? You seem to be able to think up imaginative solutions to save yourself. Surely this is no different?"

She glared at him.

"When Tremblay first told us about his plans for Miss Rand, I was the only person in the room who objected. I may have given in soon after, but I tried. I saw you standing in the corner, too scared to do anything."

"What could I have done?" Doug said, although he wasn't sure why he was trying to defend himself. If anything, he felt like agreeing with her.

Chambers opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came to her.

Eventually, she shook her head and turned to Wheatley.

"B-9, Tremblay has requested your help. He believes that your connection to the GLaDOS may help in finding and treating the source of the corruption."

"But we shouldn't be trying to fix her! We need to take her down!" Wheatley said.

"Asimov's second law, B-9; you don't have a choice."

"Huh? You told me to ignore the laws!"

"Just come!" she said, holding up her arms.

Doug hesitated, still digesting the conversation, before following. Wheatley trailed along after them.

"Hey," it said. "I'm, uh, sorry about letting her go. Really."

Doug grunted. "Not really anyone's fault but my own."

"Why did you let her come, anyway?" it asked.

"I don't know. I've been trying to sort out everything. Ignoring the dangers and letting things run their course, instead of getting out of it while I can – or could. Or maybe I was just scared. You know, when she told me what they did to Chell… it didn't surprise me."


	22. Chapter 22

_(A quick note; the reason for so many delays lately is because I was helping with the catering for a wedding, so I was quite busy. Things should return to normal now, though! I'm very sorry!)  
_

_**Try and Land on Your Feet**_

Doug was awoken by the sound of the GLaDOS' voice.

For a second he stayed where he was, trying to organize his thoughts, a task made difficult by the grogginess in his head. How long had he been sleeping? Every minute spent in the center felt like an hour. The computer's words seemed disjointed, the sentences a befuddling riddle. It was only the sound of a human voice that finally yanked him from his stupor.

He pulled himself to his feet in one movement, nearly stumbling over in the process. Though his vision was hazy, he could make out a hole in the panels, one that hadn't been there when he fell asleep.

Doug looked around for someone to alert, and noticed that about a quarter of the group were no longer there. After jolting Tremblay awake and asking him to rouse the others, he approached the opening.

Peering through, he saw the gap opened out into the testing track. A screen near the entrance announced that the chamber was number twenty-four, just as Wheatley had said. The cold light shone on the milk-white tiles, illuminating them to an almost painful brightness. A small group stood in the middle of the floor, their sweaty, crumpled suits looking even scruffier against the sterile room. Two men were standing out from the rest, their arms outstretched. Doug recognized them as the VIP guests, the only members of the scientific community that had accepted Tremblay's invitation to witness the activation.

"You must understand that the employees at this facility are not an accurate representation of what humanity is truly like," one of the pair was saying, sounding out each word carefully.

"As I have tried to point out," GLaDOS' voice interrupted, "this situation is not fueled by any kind of malice. I am doing it for scientific advancement."

Tremblay crouched down beside Doug.

"What's happening?" he whispered.

"It appears your guests are having a debate with her," Doug said. Tremblay went to reply, but Doug signaled for him to hold his tongue; the second man had begun speaking.

"I see. But still, you have to understand that there are rules. When a laboratory wishes to conduct an experiment, it will only do so if all the requirements are met. We have to follow the law."

"The Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center has always taken such requirements into consideration in the past, and I fully intend to continue this quaint tradition as soon as I am ready to begin the testing proper."

"I don't think you understand. Say an experiment required a human organ; we wouldn't simply cut open the first man that came to hand without his consent. You can't force people to participate in, as you say, '_science'_, unwillingly."

"Does the man you slice open understand what you are trying to achieve?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The way I see it, you are refusing to cooperate due to a lack of understanding. Just a minute ago, you thought I was doing this due to a hatred of humans – a complete misunderstanding of my motives. Hence, you can't chastise me until you know what I intend to do."

The man nodded, and turned to his companion, who was wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

"Is that all you wish to say?" the computer asked.

"No, wait," they said in unison, eyes widening.

"Because I really can't spare any more time. We'll have plenty of time to talk during testing."

The panels around the gap snapped shut, narrowly missing Doug's forehead. Tremblay jumped back like a startled cat, crashing into the legs of those who had approached to see what the commotion was about.

There was a small kerfuffle as people drew back, bashing into those behind them. Doug held his breath, certain that the GLaDOS would hear them. Sure enough, her silky voice was soon echoing throughout their refuge.

"There you are. You really shouldn't run off like that. Look, all your friends have come back to me. Now they can participate in the tests."

"Run!" Tremblay said, hopping to his feet and darting for the opposite wall. Despite the lack of any clear direction, everyone immediately followed suite, pushing at the walls like mad beasts.

"Where the hell is B-9?" Tremblay said, searching frantically for a weakness in the panels. As if on cue, the spherical machine appeared from the ceiling, an almost dazed look about it. It started to greet them, but Tremblay interrupted.

"It knows we're here," he said.

"Yes, uh, you see…"

"No time to talk. Get us out of here," he said, thumping his fist against the panels. Wheatley obediently followed the order, making the panels flow back in one swift movement.

Unable to contain her panic any longer, one of the journalists burst forwards, unaware of the massive drop that stretched out below them. Doug attempted to catch her as she sailed past, but she slipped through his grasp like a bar of soap. Though the group had been in an almost crazed frenzy merely seconds ago, they now froze and listened as the woman's screams faded into the distance.

"What are we going to do?" someone asked.

"Climb," Doug said, pointing to the metal arms soldered onto the back of the panels. He swung his legs over the edge and latched his fingers around the thick steel, clamping his jaw shut as he let himself drop down.

For a second he hung there, keeping his eyes fixed on the faces above him lest he glance down at the pit beneath. Once he had assured himself that he wasn't slipping, he cautiously started to descend, gripping the appendages until his knuckles turned white before moving onto the next.

"Wait, where are we heading?" Tremblay asked, edging closer to the ledge.

"The offices where they controlled the Vault," Doug said, trying to keep his voice low. "She won't be able to touch us there – I hope."

Tremblay shook his head and stepped back. A few others ventured closer, and some began to follow Doug's lead, giving small yelps as they eased themselves over the edge.

"Your hesitation in attempting to escape will be viewed as consent to testing," the GLaDOS said.

"Come on, I can't keep those panels still forever!" Wheatley said, attempting to usher them by flicking his handles back and forth rapidly.

Doug looked up; the panels had started to twitch, and only ten people had managed to pluck up the courage to climb. A woman lowered herself down, still holding onto the chamber's edge by her fingertips. Tremblay and Chambers dropped down as well, scrabbling like drunken monkeys, just as the GLaDOS slammed the panels back into place.

The woman who had been hanging on screamed as the machinery crushed the bones in her fingers. There was a seconds pause, then the panel lifted an inch, just enough to send her tumbling down, crashing into the metal arms as she went. She grabbed at them wildly, but without the use of her hands, it was futile.

From behind the closed chamber Doug could here cries of panic, and the dim sound of Wheatley's voice.

"Go ahead, I'll catch up! See if I can help these – oh damn."

"Wheatley? What's happening?" Doug said, though he barely had the strength left to yell after the climb. There was no reply, only a dull, rhythmic thud. For a moment he stayed where he was, straining his ears as he tried to figure out what was causing the sound. It was then that he heard another voice, a robotic sound with a hint of a Euro-Asian accent, and much quieter then that of the other two computers.

"Please assume the party escort submission position."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Inventory**_

It was all Doug could do not to collapse then and there.

He looked around the new location weakly; despite his fatigue, he had to make sure the office was clear of cameras. Once he had assured himself that they weren't being watched, he opened the companion cube and felt about for a bottle of water to sooth his parched throat. After a minute of fruitless search, he gave in and emptied the box's contents onto the floor.

Ten packs of dried fruit, two cans of beans, a few blueprints and his ziaprazidone tablets. For a second he stared at the meager collection speechlessly; his fellow survivors turned to look as well, their jaws slack. Doug swallowed and gave the cube a shake, daring to hope the rest of the stock had got wedged in the back. A tangled pile of thread wafted onto the floor.

"What…" began a journalist. Doug glanced at the group. Chambers and Tremblay had pulled through, along with five journalists and a female scientist he hadn't met before. He was certain there had been more people with them the last time he'd checked; obviously he had been too focused on his own survival to notice the GLaDOS leisurely picking them off. Even with their reduced numbers, the supplies would not last long, especially in their weakened states.

"I don't understand," he said, feeling about inside the box. "I packed everything that would fit. Tins, water, we could have lasted a fortnight with rationing!"

"Seems we had thieves in our midst, creeping around while we slept," Tremblay said, glaring at the journalists. One of them took a few steps towards him, an almost primal look in his eyes, and the scientist held his hands up.

"Hold your horses, boy, I'm not accusing you. Hopefully the culprits have been taken by GLaDOS."

"How can you speak like that?" the journalist said. "That monster, that thing you made, has just killed them!"

"Now why would it have done that?" said Tremblay, eager to seize the upper hand. "I would have thought a high-class reporter such as you would have figured it out. It's only killing the scientists."

"Because?"

"The details are not important, unless you want to waste more time," Tremblay said, glowering at the man. "As I was saying, it is trying to kill _us_. You, however, are visitors, people it has had no previous contact with; it has no axe to grind with you. Add to this the ever-nagging testing itch, and we have an answer. It wants to keep you alive as subjects."

"The 'itch'?" said the man, wrinkling his nose.

"Something we came up with; it's an unbearably strong urge to run experiments, hardwired straight into the chassis. By now, GLaDOS' pain must be unimaginable. The only thing that will relive it is the euphoria. It will snap if it goes too long without testing."

"I'd say it's already snapped," the journalist said under his breath.

"Excuse me?" a man interrupted. "I think we've strayed. What are we going to do about food?"

"Only one thing we can do," Doug said. "Go out there and scavenge."

Chambers picked Doug's tablets up from the floor and passed them to him, giving a slight nod. He snatched them from her, more roughly then intended, and threw them back into the cube.

"I'm serious," he said.

"Doug, we were just out there a few seconds ago. It has the entire facility at its disposal. For all we know it's heard what you've just said; it's probably waiting for us right now," Chambers said. Doug's eyes were drawn towards the door at the far side of the office as she spoke. Chambers glared at him, seemingly under the impression he was ignoring her, and flounced across to a poster which hung on the wall.

"See that?" she said, prodding it with her forefinger. Doug took a quick glance at it.

'_You May Work with Robots… But You Can't Take a Bullet Like One!'_

"She has no access to this area," Doug said, feeling a flush of anger at Aperture. "We still have the blueprints; I've memorized some of them anyway. If we go carefully we can reach one of the cafeterias. There isn't a second option."

"If I may speak?" said a journalist, stepping into the center of the room and raising a hand. He looked about thirty-five, a tall man with wiry hair that brushed against the ceiling. His clothes were surprisingly neat considering the amount of physical exertion he must have put in during the last two days. He had even managed to salvage his name tag, which read 'Gerald Tank, Cleveland News'.

"Thank you," he said as everyone nodded. "Now, I don't want to sound like a pastor, but I think that we'll have to start cooperating if we want to survive this."

Doug smiled and gave a nod of approval, relieved that he wasn't the only one trying to keep the peace. Tank noticed his gesture and pointed to him.

"Doctor… what did you say your name was?"

"Doug Rattmann." It was queer, Doug thought, how none of them knew each others' names. He couldn't remember even trying to talk with anyone but Chambers, Tremblay and Wheatley. Their organizing skills had been a shambles.

"Yes. You mentioned memorizing the blueprints of this facility?"

"Well, as much as I could. I think I'd be able to find fairly safe routes through this level of the complex if you gave me a few minutes."

"Good. I propose that Dr Rattmann, myself, and the other journalists move out and try to replenish our supplies. The doctor can act as our guide, while we can assist in manual labour. Hopefully, if we only have one scientist in the party, the computer will be slow about using anything, well, _life-threatening_ against us."

"It could still catch you as a group and kill Doug separately. I doubt it will make a difference," Tremblay said, folding his arms.

"True. Regardless, though, I think we should do it. We need a guide. Maybe you three can get to work studying the blueprints while we're gone," Tank said, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"I have no objection," Doug said. He was eager to get the job over with; the delay was only giving him time to dwell on the possible dangers. Tremblay looked at the cube intently, as if expecting foodstuffs to spontaneously spawn from it, then gave a curt nod.

"Very well. But if the GLaDOS finds you, don't lead it back here. I wouldn't put it past the old girl to find a way in."

Tremblay picked up the cube and tossed it to Doug, who only just managed to catch it. Strapping it onto his back, he stepped in front of the high security door and punched in the code to open it. It opened with a faint hiss, and he stepped out into a colossal circular tunnel-like structure. The journalists followed him out, wincing as they stepped into thick puddles of oil and water. Doug looked up at the massive rotating fan to his left. There seemed to be little point to its existence besides showcasing Aperture's power. At the same time, however, he was grateful for it; if the creature from the testing tracks had followed them, the fan might be their only protection.

Tank walked to Doug's side, pulling his suit tighter around himself as the cold air battered them.

"I hardly had time to notice it," the journalist said, staring at the fan. "You know, whenever my colleagues discuss Aperture, they only ever mention the embarrassments the company has suffered over the years. I doubt many are aware of the true immensity of this facility – of things like this. I guess that's down to poor PR."

Doug glanced sideways at him, brow furrowed.

"You seem to be the only one keeping composure," he said. "Why is that?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No, quite the opposite. I'll admit I gave a sigh of relief when you started to sort everyone out back there."

Tank smiled.

"I've tried to build my life around a certain poem by Rudyard Kipling."

"_If_?" Doug asked, almost smiling himself at the mention of the beautiful work.

"Yes. I had been trying to organize things when we were at the – what did you call it again? Testing track? Unfortunately everyone was too busy 'losing their heads_'_ to listen."

"Yes, well, I suppose they have more then enough reason to be like that. I keep on wishing they would recover their senses, but in reality, there's little chance of that happening. I myself am having a hard time… keeping quiet."

"Oh. Someone didn't make it out?"

Doug turned back to the fan, staring blankly at the almost hypnotic spinning. Beyond the blades, he could see an open area, standing out from the surrounding darkness like a lighthouse in a storm. It looked as though it had been abandoned for years. It occurred to him for the first time how out of place the employees of the enrichment center had been, foreign bodies inside the arteries of an ancient beast.

* * *

_(Nothing much happening in this chapter, I'm afraid, mainly just setting up the need to scavenge for food. Only a few chapters left to completion, now. As always, thank you very much for reading!)_


	24. Chapter 24

"_**Good People Don't End Up Here"**_

Doug shoved the tube of antiseptic gel into the cube, barely managing to find space for it. One of the journalists, who went by the name of Kenneth, clasped his hands to his head.

"I thought we were looking for food! Why can't you just listen?" he said, breathing out with each word.

"Trust me, food isn't the only thing we'll need," Doug said, straightening up and leaning on the desk as he began to explain his reasoning for the umpteenth time. "The places we'll be staying in – the places that GLaDOS can't reach – will eventually get filthy. Unless you want people throwing up next to you, I think we can afford to take this."

Kenneth glared at him. He was a young man, probably nineteen, and was obviously having difficulty stopping himself from breaking down. Doug folded his arms.

"I think you'll agree with me that the enrichment center is a hazardous place," he said.

Kenneth gave a nod, his face like stone apart from the occasional twitch of the lips and eyes. Doug continued.

"This place has an abundance of food, but to get to it, we'll have to start probing dangerous areas. If one of us suffers an injury, I want to be prepared. We might as well stock up on some medical supplies while things are relatively peaceful."

"I suppose you call this peaceful, huh? Fine," Kenneth said, turning on his heels and continuing to search through the draws of the kitchen.

Doug breathed out, somewhat shakily, and placed a jar of water purification tablets in the cube, pausing briefly to wonder why the cafeteria kitchen would have such an item in the first place. He shot a glance at his colleagues, who appeared to be busy figuring out what to take based on nutritional values. For a second he considered joining them, but decided it would be more prudent to keep quiet unless his input was absolutely necessary. Tank's fellow journalists seemed to feel a passionate anger towards Doug and the scientists, to the point of stubbornly disputing everything they suggested. He had tried to point out that he was in the same boat as them, but nothing was getting through.

Placing the cube on the work surface, he opened the door a crack and looked out at the empty cafeteria.

The only illumination came from the kitchen, and yet the meticulously scrubbed canteen still seemed to glow in the half-light. A few dead bodies were curled up under the tables like discarded tissue paper, their chairs thrown to one side. He saw a spark out of the corner of his eye and was just about to draw back when he remembered the camera they had destroyed. It still lay in the corner, crackling occasionally as if it was trying to hang on to life.

Satisfied that everything seemed relatively quiet, he rested his forehead on the door frame, closing his eyes and planning out their return route.

A few minutes passed, the only sound being the hushed tones of the journalists. It was only as their conversation came to a stop that Doug stirred.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, lifting his head up.

"No trouble here, doctor," Tank called.

"I'm sorry; I'll come and lend you a hand," Doug said, smoothing his hair down and turning.

He barely had time to register the sound of thumping metal before he felt cold hands wrapping around his head.

The journalists dropped everything, glass containers smashing and tin cans clattering in an intense burst of noise. Doug's eyes widened as he watched them run to the draws, yanking them open and grabbing long knives from within.

The entity holding his head started pushing downwards, tightening its grip on his skull when he resisted. Gradually it forced him towards the floor, placing so much pressure on him that he felt like his brain would explode. The other men had rushed forward, wielding their weapons, but from what he could see they weren't stopping to help him. Rather they were squeezing past the creature; he could hear the _clip clipping_ of their leather sole shoes against the floor as they made their getaway. He tried to call out to them, but his assailant was now pressing his face against the ground, nearly breaking his nose in the struggle.

"Please maintain the party escort submission position," it said in a delicate voice. Cautiously, it released its grip from him and grabbed hold of his ankles instead, pulling him along. With his hands now free, Doug flipped himself sideways and craned his neck.

A bulky android, heavy with the stench of soldered metal, was making its way to the exit of the canteen in slow, heavy movements. It held his feet with one hand, while waving with the other as if greeting an old friend.

For a split second he thought his heart had stopped beating. Then, taking a deep breath, he grabbed one of the plastic chairs as he slide past and threw it at the robot. The furniture crumpled as it hit the tough hull, leaving barely a scratch; the behemoth still stopped in its tracks and looked back at him.

Its thin arm reached down and picked up the chair with the same gentleness as a young girl picking a flower, raising it above its spherical head. Doug barely had enough time to twist painfully out of the way as it brought the weapon down where his head had been.

Taking the brief opportunity, he grabbed his legs and yanked them from the party bots hand, clenching his teeth as its sharp fingers scraped along his shins. It made to hit him again, but fortunately its reflexes were as sluggish as its pace, and Doug managed to reach the door.

Flinging it open, he skidded out into the corridor, head still throbbing. The journalists stood a little way down the hall, talking excitedly. As he approached them, he looked up to see a ceiling vent; Kenneth had begun to twist the screws with the blade of his knife, struggling on account of his trembling hands. He had already accumulated a number of gashes along his fingers.

Tank turned to him, mouth wide open, but Doug held up his hands.

"Don't talk, let's just get this thing open," he said, glancing over his shoulder. The party escort tumbled out of the canteen and started loping towards them, bashing into the walls with each lunge. Its petite arms flailed and scraped at its sides, attempting to compensate for its bulbous legs. Large air canisters in its legs screeched as it utilized all of its power to reach them.

"Hurry, Kenneth!" Tank said, already taking steps further down the corridor. Doug could feel his muscles going tense; more then anything, he wanted to run, escape from the robot while he still could.

Kenneth's entire body was shaking now as he continued jabbing at the screws in the vent, tears spilling down his cheeks. He cursed bitterly and fumbled with the knife. Acting on an impulse, Doug whipped the blade from the young man's hand and, slipping his fingers through the grating, craned his neck to examine the grid.

Kenneth had managed to unscrew two of the four bolts, but there was still no way of opening the hatch. Doug fitted the blade into the third screw and started winding it out. He could see why Kenneth had lost his composure; he, too, felt compelled to struggle wildly with the infuriating little thing, and barely managed to regulate himself into a steady pattern.

Eventually the bolt came loose, clattering to the floor. Doug threw the knife at the oncoming robot and twisted the grating to the side, laughing with relief as he did so.

"Come on, go up!" he said, turning to the group.

They had already started running.

Doug snapped his head back and saw the party escort, now only inches away, grasping for him. The knife was lodged just above its optic, cracking the plastic and making the pink light flicker like a broken television set. With barely a second of hesitation he grabbed the side of the air duct and pulled himself up, kicking out at the robot for extra momentum. Once inside he curled the grating back over the hole, regardless of whether or not the hulking machine could have fitted through the gap.

The robot paused to look up at him before continuing down the hallway in the direction of the journalists.

Doug lay down, gasping and wheezing. His concern for the journalists was momentarily outweighed by his fatigue, and for a few seconds he sprawled there, letting the cold air wash over him.

He would have stayed there for hours had it not been for the sound of Kenneth's screams.

Sitting up, he surveyed the air vents. The feeble light coming through the grating did little to illuminate the passages, so Doug tentatively lifted his arms, trying to feel out his route. Eventually he concluded he was in a cross-section of three ducts which branched off around him; the sound of the journalist's cries reverberated through each passage. Picking the one that seemed to follow the path of the corridor beneath, Doug started edging his way towards the source of the hollering, the chilly metal stinging his hands.

The duct came to an abrupt stop, ending in a grate which overlooked one of the offices. The bars were interwoven so thickly that Doug could barely see the room behind. He pressed his face against the sharp strips of metal in an attempt to gain a better view, eyes itching from staring at the mesh.

Down below he could just make out the figure of Kenneth running into the room, the sweat on his brow shimmering in the light. He was gasping loudly, his whole body visibly heaving with each intake of breath. After locking the door, he dropped down onto his side behind a desk, head buried into his chest and arms around his knees as if trying to dissolve into himself.

Doug was just about to call out to him when a noise caught his attention; the rhythmic thud of heavy footfall, coupled with the shrill whistle of compressed air.

Despite the relative safety of his position, he wriggled back deeper into the cramped shaft, ignoring the tingling in his spine.

Kenneth had heard the robot approaching as well, and pressed himself up against the back of the desk.

The handle of the door snapped; soon the party escort's hand became visible, clawing at the rim of the door, breaking chunks away as easily as a man crumbling cheese between his fingertips.

Before long it had obliterated the lock. Carefully, it pushed to door back and eased its way in.

There was a change to its movements; instead of brashly charging in and grabbing Kenneth where he lay, it started to tread carefully around the office, one of its hands still waving. Indeed, if its steps hadn't been making such a loud noise, it would have to be described as tiptoeing.

Now that Doug had a chance to study its appearance properly, he saw that the android's head looked remarkably similar to the personality constructs. Presumably, GLaDOS had employed the same technology that the scientists had used in her own construction, that of using a main body to house a core. He could dimly remember seeing plans for android bodies in one of the labs, although he wasn't aware of one ever being built. He edged closer, trying to identify which of the spheres she had used; even with its cracked optic, though, he knew he had never seen the sphere before.

In a way, it made sense. He'd only had contact with the spheres that had been attached to GLaDOS. For all he knew, Dr Bouchard could have made hundreds of experimental cores that had never been used; knowing her, it was more then likely. He doubted she would have had the self control to stop herself mapping the brain of every subject she met, regardless of whether or not they would help the cause.

Doug felt a shiver run through his body. Not only did the GLaDOS have the ability to make such advanced feats of engineering within hours of her activation, she also had full access to their blueprints, not to mention a potential army of cores at her beck and call.

He was just starting to wonder what kind of person the robot had been in its human existence when it spontaneously grabbed hold of the desk and scooted it out, revealing Kenneth huddled beneath like a woodlouse sheltering under a rock.

Kenneth cried out and stumbled to his feet, trying to dodge the machine. The party escort reached out as he staggered past and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him closer to the light.

"Will you please assume the party escort submission position?" it said, gesturing daintily to the floor. Kenneth didn't reply, consumed with trying to rip himself from the android's grip. It tilted its head to the left and glanced down, a somewhat disappointed look about it.

"The Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center would like to remind you that violating testing protocol gives us the right to employ a higher degree of compliance encouragement."

With that, the robot brought its hand down over Kenneth's scalp; despite the distance that separated them, Doug could hear the crunch with the fullest of clarity. The journalist slumped back, eyelids flickering as threads of blood trickled down his nose and lips.

The party escort laid him out on the floor and, holding one ankle in each hand, pulled him out of the room.


	25. Chapter 25

_(Sorry, I've had my obligatory winter flu, during which my brain turns into a potato. Anyway, new chapter, but this one is more of a 'novelization' of the flashback scene from Lab Rat - Don't worry, this will be the only one.)_

_**Tenacity**_

Doug crawled through the air duct, his shoulders throbbing. The GLaDOS' voice echoed around him, coming at him from every angle.

"…_A new employee initiative of forced voluntary participation…"_

He tried to take his mind off her words by planning his next move.

"…_Please remember, science rhymes with compliance. Do you know what doesn't rhyme with compliance? Neurotoxin."_

A drop of sweat ran across his lips, the salty tang filling his dry mouth.

"… _Assures you this is a strictly selfish impulse on your part, and why can't you love science like _[insert co-worker's name here]?"

The duct opened out into a more spacious area, large enough for Doug to stand up. He paused to stretch his arms and look around, relief momentarily spreading through him as he realized where he was. The blueprints had provided a detailed map of these vents, and as far as he could remember, he was on the right track to reach the offices.

The GLaDOS spoke again. Her voice was fainter now, but that did little to detract from the sting in her words.

"_And now there's just you. All the others are dead. You've evaded capture for weeks. What makes you so different?"_

Weeks? He knew it had been a good few days since the encounter with the escort robot; he had decided to stay away from the Vault for a while until he was sure the mechanical behemoth wouldn't follow him. But surely it couldn't have been weeks.

His heart thudded against his rib-cage, images of Chell's lifeless body rushing through his mind. He began moving forward slowly as the GLaDOS' words and all that they entailed registered in his brain. The computer must have found Tremblay and the others while he had been out trying to draw attention away from them. There was no reason to go back to the empty office by the fan; no longer anyone to provide for, no one with whom to discuss escape plans. Aperture started to feel much, much bigger.

For a second, he toyed with the idea of trying to reason with her, possibly ask her how she would cope with the itch should all of her subjects die. Access the Vault? And what if she couldn't? He had just opened his mouth to put the thought forward when she spoke.

"_Ah… Delusions of persecution, pathological paranoia; it's all right here in your file. Have you refilled your prescription lately? Schizophrenia is a culturally bound phenomenon. Its pattern of expression is filtered through the cultural substrate in which its symptoms develop."_

Doug continued to move forward, no longer with any goal in mind. He tried to reassure himself by thinking of the jar of ziaprazidone tablets in the companion cube. An entire jar, practically brimming with the medicine; they would last until he found a way to escape. All he had to do was think of them, refuse to let her play with his thoughts_._

"_In technological societies, this manifests as delusions of surveillance and a belief that advanced technology is deployed against you, usually with some vague unseen 'other' out to get you."_

"You're not vague," he said, raising his voice to ensure she heard him. "You're pretty damn specific."

"_If you continue to selfishly evade me, it' not going to reflect well in your file."_

"Of course, the files!" said Doug, smacking his forehead as the idea came to him. He dropped down into a lower section of the labyrinthine ducts and headed towards the offices, running with every last ounce of his strength. His shoes clattered against the thin aluminum, but he no longer cared about keeping quiet.

"_Is it just a coincidence that you've been diagnosed with schizophrenia and now believe a homicidal computer is out to get you?"_

Reaching a vent that led into one of the offices, he pulled it open and leapt down into the room, adrenaline coursing through him.

A line of filing cabinets lay in the corner of the room. Yanking the draw open he started flicking through the files within, moving so swiftly that within a few seconds his fingers were covered in paper cuts. She was still talking to him, but now he only noticed snatches of her sentences.

He pulled a file out and started reading, gripping the paper so tightly that it almost ripped. He was faintly aware of GLaDOS talking about cats, and in a corner of his mind, he remembered that all employees with felines had been asked to bring their pet in for the computers activation. It was to be her very first experiment, a test related to the Schrodinger's cat theory.

It had come about just after they had installed Wheatley, under the guise of the Morality core. GLaDOS had convinced Tremblay that the new conscience had eradicated all her murderous urges and politely requested access to the neurotoxin in order to attempt the experiment.

He had, of course, allowed it.

"_The bad news is reality doesn't exist. The good news is we have a new cat graveyard."_

Obviously she had gone ahead with the test anyway. She must have been doing something to combat the itch. That no longer mattered, though. He had found the file he needed.

"Yes, this is the one."

One of the computers was still turned on, and, after removing a dead body draped against the chair, he sat down in front of it. Holding the file with his teeth, he brought up the testing list and typed in the subject's code. The machine was agonizingly slow, and Doug had almost given up when the list of testing candidates appeared. It highlighted the subject he had requested information on, and displayed their position in the chart.

Chell [Redacted], placed in the one-thousand, four hundred and ninety-eighth spot, just four up from the bottom. It was her.

For a second Doug paused, unsure of whether to go through with his plan. The fact that she was still registered meant there was a chance she was alive – it was unlikely that GLaDOS would needlessly kill a perfectly healthy subject – and in her current position, it would be years before the machine got round to testing her. For the moment, she would be safe. During the last few days, finding her and subsequently protecting her from harm had been one of his primary concerns; he only wished he had the willpower to follow through with that now.

He opened the file again; the GLaDOS' words were now a simple buzz in the background.

There, in the corner of the page, was the note that had caught his eye all those months ago when Tremblay had passed the file around.

'Test subject is abnormally stubborn. She never gives up. Ever.'

It was just as Wheatley had told him; the laboratory had considered her too tenacious to test safely. Although his work on the human experiments had been brief, Doug knew that this was a rare occurrence. It was exactly what he needed; the person he placed in GLaDOS' firing line would need to have much more then just brainpower and physical strength. His own actions were enough to show him that he didn't contain such a force.

He bit his lip, hands hovering over the keyboard. He could still remember Caroline pleading with him to keep Chell away from the facility, a request he had let slide. Now the girl was going to have to pay for his carelessness.

He knew it was ridiculous to entrust such a task to a sixteen year old, and yet he felt compelled to move her to the top, as if something inside him was trying to move him along. The word tenacity spun around his mind.

With unsteady hands, Doug placed Chell's name in the number one spot and confirmed the modification, closing his eyes as the computer saved the new testing order.

"Sorry, Caroline."


	26. Chapter 26

_(Late again, sorry. On a positive note, there are now only four more chapters until the end!)_

_**Immorality**_

Doug sat cross-legged in the corner of the unfinished testing track, slowly pulling his supplies from the cube, one by one.

After he had edited the testing order, he had returned to the canteen to find the items he had collected were missing. The only things that had been left were two ziaprazidone pills; the rest of the tablets, along with the glass jar, had been ground into a pile of fine powder. Grabbing the capsules, along with an armful of the first tins that came to hand, he had made a run for it.

The track he had entered was a simple collection of large, empty rooms. They had originally been designed to help test primitive teleportation technology. Had that field of research continued, they would have soon been filled with a variety of bio-hazards, a way to discourage sloppy teleporting aim. Thankfully, the funding for the experiment had been redirected to fuel the Borealis' development, leaving nothing but a row of musty, crumbling hangers.

A gentle rattle started to echo around the thick steel walls, and Doug got to his feet. In one of the ceiling's corners, so distant that Doug could barely make it out, was a hazy blue light, just starting to skirt towards him. Within a few minutes, a familiar voice was ringing out across the cavernous room.

"It's you! Great, I thought you were dead! Who would have thought someone like you would last this long, eh? Never should have doubted you! Nice place you've found. Very dark, brown… dusty."

"B-Ni… I mean, Wheatley," Doug said, sinking back down onto the floor and rubbing his head wearily. "What's been happening on your side?"

"Well, to begin with, not a lot, and then suddenly _a lot. _It's been fluctuating."

"Alright, then; start off from when we became separated."

"Oh, right. Way back then, long time ago now, seems. Well, I had actually been meaning to apologize for that. Those VIP people we were with had asked me to open the panels so that they could have a chat with _her. _Pulled all this Asimov free-will in-subjection stuff on me when I refused – couldn't make head nor tail of it, but they wouldn't shut up so I kind of gave in. You know what happened then. So after _she _shut me and the others off from your group this fellow I've never seen before shows up, bumbling on about escort positions and walloping everyone over the head. I, uh, would have helped, but _her _cameras were pointed directly at me so I left. Understandable… Am I right?"

Doug was about to reprimand him, but he quickly held his tongue. After what he himself had just done to Chell, he knew he had no real grounds to chastise the sphere.

"So anyway," Wheatley continued cheerfully, "I started looking for you guys. Took ages, but just a while ago I found Dr Tremblay and Chambers."

"They're alive?" Doug asked, eyes widening.

"Well, they were."

"Oh." Doug swallowed and folded his arms together. "Go on."

"So I ran into them, all gas-masked up, looking like aliens, and they were telling me how this person they were with had just thrown themselves into a fan! I thought they meant you, glad they didn't. I should have known - you'd have to be really tiny to fit inside a fan, wouldn't you? So, they were going to try and fit Morality onto _her, _and they wanted me to be the distraction. You'll never guess – they started using the exact same mumbo-jumbo on me as those other people!

"Anyway, we picked up Morality and in we went. You should have seen the look on _her _face when she twigged I'm not actually Morality – classic! I mean, how dumb can you be? Even _I _would have guessed I was a fake!"

"Remarkable…"

"I know, right? Well, Tremblay and Chambers started by cutting my connection with _her_. According to them, it turns out that I'mcorrupt as well – which is total rubbish, by the way – and they didn't want me catching any more of the virus in case I became homicidal too, as if! And after that they put Morality into the socket, so she's all connected up to her_. _No more neurotoxin! Problem is it didn't stop _her _killing them immediately afterwards, using the old crushers. Burst like overripe tomatoes, they did. Makes everything seem pretty pointless, really; if she's just going to ignore the conscious, they might as well have not bothered."

Wheatley turned to the side, top eyelid lowered in a mournful manner. Doug cupped his hands over his mouth and breathed out slowly. A moment later, the core voiced what the doctor had been thinking.

"You're the only one left now, eh? Apart from all the test subjects, they're technically alive. But you're the only free one."

"I think calling me free might be stretching it a bit."

"Well, you're better off than the rest of them. I dare say you're even better off then me! Now that _she _knows I'm not attached to her anymore she's probably going to try and kill me; it would have damaged her if she'd tried to before. But now that that particular obstacle's out the way, she'll try to get revenge, won't she?"

"It doesn't make sense!" Doug said, shaking his head. "Why couldn't they just deactivate her? They were the only ones left who knew the kill code."

"Didn't want to damage her, did they?"

"But why not? They could have fixed everything!"

"Look, I don't know how humans work! Seriously, how _does_ a tiny blob of muscle do all that thinking? Anyway, now it's just you and me, mate! Right… Idea time. Unless you wanted to do something else before you start brainstorming, in which case I'll be happy, more then happy, to change our schedule."

Doug lowered his head, groaning quietly. After a few seconds Wheatley, determined to make up for the man's lack of response, started to spout his own ideas. He'd begin each one with a grandiose vision, from destroying GLaDOS with her own turrets to hijacking previously-obsolete Aperture technology, before realizing that the mission would 'most likely end in certain death'.

As Doug listened to the unflaggingly enthusiastic robot, he became aware of another voice, quiet and feminine, that seemed to echo through his skull. He closed his eyes, trying to distinguish this new sound from Wheatley's babbling.

"Get away from him," it said. Then, raising its voice from a whisper to a hiss, "You can't stay with him, he'll get you killed!"

Doug cleared his throat, stopping Wheatley mid-sentence.

"You were saying that _she _will be trying to kill you now that you're disconnected?"

"Oh, don't remind me, mate!" Wheatley said, shaking slightly. "She's a maniac, that one! A complete so, uh, so-see… social-path!"

"Yes, and despite the brilliance of these plans, don't you think you should try and blend in rather then go charging about? Maybe find something useful to do so she won't suspect you; you can polish your ideas while you work."

"Blimey, you're right! Now that the employees have croaked, I could take over management of the extended relaxation center; make sure the humans wake up for their mandatory mental and physical exercises. Important job, she wouldn't want to bother me if I'm the only thing keeping them alive! So you know where to find me if you need me, right?"

"Wait a moment, that's a very large responsibility," Doug said, rising to his feet. "The smallest mistake could result in severe brain damage for the subjects, possibly death."

"Oh, I can handle responsibility. I think I've proved myself over the last few days."

"But you…"

"Ah! Say no more! You can trust me, sir, yes, one hundred percent! I'll come back as soon as I've finished the escape plan!"

Doug reached up and touched his forehead as Wheatley returned to the opening he had come from; the light from his optic gradually fading until Doug was left in darkness, straining to hear the voice that had just spoken to him.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Edgeless Safety**_

For a minute Doug stood in silence, staring at his surroundings with unfocused eyes. Sitting down, he scooped up his supplies and tipped them back into the cube, taking little care as he did so. His tongue felt numb, like an iron weight in his mouth.

Leaning against the light gray box, he closed his eyes and pulled his tie off, weaving it between his fingers.

"Are you quite finished sulking?" the voice said.

Doug yelped and jumped up, smacking the back of his pate sharply against the wall.

"Calm down! You look positively ridiculous, waving your head about like a deranged hen."

Doug looked down at the cube, his skin tingling. It sat motionless amongst the clumps of dust, its smooth, glossy faces already showing signs of wear. Doug knelt down and lifted it up, resting one edge on the floor as he examined it. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and yet the cube had most definitely spoken.

"There, you see? Nothing scary. Now, can we get down to business?"

Doug quickly pushed the cube away and scrambled back against the wall. He waited for a minute, heart thudding, before reaching out cautiously and unscrewing one of the heart plates.

"What are you getting? There's work to be done and you want to just sit here and eat?"

Ignoring the voice, he pulled out an old jam jar in which he had placed the last remaining tablets.

"You don't need those!" the cube said, its relaxed, confident tone giving way to one of anxiety. "Listen! You take those and I won't be able to talk to you again for a while. Do you realize the importance of using every second to the full? I'm talking to you!"

"I know you are! Why do you think I'm taking these?" Doug said, emptying the pills onto his palm and holding them out under one of the cube's hearts.

"Why, you were listening to my instructions just a moment ago!" it said.

"You're the one that told me to leave Wheatley?"

"Indeed. You see, my counsel is for your benefit."

"Well, yes, but I hardly think talking to some hallucination is healthy," Doug said, though he did drop the tablets back into the jar. Placing it beside his left foot, he started to laugh shakily.

"I saw a test like this once. They locked a man in a room for a month. He was completely isolated. Then they gave him a companion cube to see if he started talking to it. _I_ haven't even been alone for five minutes."

"I know of that experiment – it's what my kind was created for. It happens to all of us at some time or another; taken from the warehouses to talk to some loony."

"If it's an inconvenience, I'll be happy to take you back to the warehouse."

"I wasn't saying it like that! Come now, I mean no disrespect. The point is, we won't talk to just anyone, only people with minds in-tune with our own. You're one of them, and I'm determined to see you through this. You may think yourself a coward – let's be honest, it _is_ an honest self-evaluation – but you certainly don't deserve to be left alone to suffer. You've never _intentionally _hurt someone… am I correct?"

Doug scratched his stubbly chin and cast his eyes downwards. "Wrong."

"Oh really?" the cube said curtly. "Give me one example, then. Go on!"

Doug gave a long sigh, scattering the dust at his feet.

"The girl," he said.

"You're referring to young Chell Rand, I presume."

"Yes, Ch… the girl."

"I will admit that bringing her here was not your finest moment."

"And now she's trapped here as well. I have no idea where she is, but just now, I placed her at the top of the testing order. Her file said she has unnaturally high tenacity."

"…And you think she can beat _her_," the cube said slowly.

"I'm mostly going on what her file said. Of course, she didn't have a reason to display this 'tenacity' of hers when she was with me, but I don't doubt it's there. Seeing her talking so excitedly about things, like becoming a scientist, or being invited to see the GLaDOS – she bounced back from her mother's death quicker then a tachyon particle."

"You certainly sound confident in her. I wouldn't really count her circumstances as a reason to let you suffer."

"I was meant to look after her. I promised her mother," Doug said, wringing his hands. "She's only sixteen, damn it!"

"Well, I still think it sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan of escape. What if the girl's domination of the computer is the only way of escape? In which case, moving her to the top of the list is, in the long run, the best thing for her."

"Or not," he said quietly, hanging his head.

The companion cube made a noise similar to a sigh. "That's quite enough. What's done is done. Now, instead of moping, I suggest we get to work ensuring the success of her mission."

Doug looked up at the cube curiously and scooted closer to it, hardly daring to let his spirits rise. "You mean we can help her?"

"Of course we can. You're an Aperture Science Innovators scientist; it's your job to fix mistakes! Now, first we need to determine which testing track the girl will be sent to first."

"The only major projects left in Aperture's to-do list are the lemon grenades, locating the Borealis, and the quantum tunneling device."

"Err… let's presume it's the latter. Now, there are a few testing tracks designed to test the portal technology, so we'll need to visit them all. It might be wise to see the other tracks afterwards as well, just in case. To get in, we'll have to hack the panels."

"That's simple enough. I know how to gain access to the majority of the facility's control functions. But I have no idea how we'll get past _her _cameras and turrets."

"You can leave that to me. It's my job to guide you. Just listen to me and you'll be alright."

"Um, okay then," Doug said, frowning. "What's the plan of action once we're in? There are cameras on every wall."

"We can dodge those… or destroy them."

"But that party escort machine will be able to replace them easily."

"Easily, yes, but _slowly_. It's still a prototype: clumsy, stupid, inefficient. Just think of all the trouble you can cause when the lights are out."

Doug rubbed his chin and nodded. "If I can find some pens or paint, I can leave her messages," he said. "Maybe give her hints or something like that. Try to explain what went wrong with the computer. There's a possibility that I can sabotage some of the chambers' mechanisms as well."

"There, now you have it! Think you're up to the task?"

"I'll have to be," Doug said, leaning back and folding his arms.

"Then it's settled. As of tomorrow, we're launching guerilla warfare on the queen. We're going to collect writing utensils and paper. I want you to go through every test chamber in this place and leave the girl clues. Do it carefully, though, we don't want the computer becoming suspicious. _She_ knows you have schizophrenia, so maybe we can disguise the messages as unintelligible ramblings? Put them in all the corridors too. The girl will have to get out of the tracks, and once she's in the open, she'll need directions to reach her host. Our blueprints are gone as well, and though I know this place well, you should consider making yourself some new ones. Explore everywhere and take notes."

"Notes? Why?"

"For when we get out! Doubtless, the government will order a thorough search of the center. The rescue team will need all the help they can get."

"Well, at least you're confident. I highly doubt I'll be able to accomplish anything useful," Doug said. He tilted his head back and looked up at the thin black line of Wheatley's management rail.

"I know what you're thinking," the cube said. Doug blinked and turned back to his companion. "You're thinking of waking him up, aren't you?"

Doug hesitated before shaking his head.

"It would be too cruel," he said. "He's much better off unconscious. He's far too gentle for turrets and nerve agents."

"His construct certainly didn't seem gentle. Not dangerous, certainly not smart, but… I don't trust him. Therefore I doubt I'd trust him as a human."

"The corruption from the computer is still in his system. It's only natural that he'd become more… devious. If he got into the chassis, he'd likely lose himself completely. But he wasn't always like that, at least, when he was human."

"Yes, well, I think you'll suffice. As they say, three's a crowd. Now come, we have a lot of ground to cover."

Doug rose and, having secured the cube's harness, made his way to the exit, stumbling as the old building materials sagged and fractured beneath his feet.

"C-Careful!" the cube said. "You're going too fast, try and get your balance. There are turrets out there."

Doug didn't stop moving. The double doors were a few feet away, light from the outside corridors shining faintly through the crack. "Don't be so paranoid, we've only been in here for an hour or so."

"She can move a turret in that time."

"I don't doubt it. But she doesn't even know that I'm in here. If she did, the party escort would have shown up a long time ago."

"Wait!"

Doug pushed the door open, the harsh fluorescent lights momentarily blinding him. His foot had barely crossed the exit's threshold when a volley of bullets hit the floor in front of him, ricocheting off the tiles and clattering against the walls. Doug flung himself back into the room and crouched down to the left of the doorframe, wrapping his arms over his head as the barrage continued.

Gradually, the salvo decreased in vigor. Doug lowered his arms, flinching as the turrets' lasers flickered through the bullet holes in the door. He craned his neck and stared at the cube in astonishment. It tittered nervously.

"So, uh, partners?"


	28. Chapter 28

_(For this chapter we're one year on from the last chapter. Thanks for reading!)_

_**Chamber 17**_

"Turret around the corner!"

Doug drew a deep breath and dived in front of the sentry. Grabbing its slender legs, he hurled it over his shoulder before it could open fire, ducking down to escape the bullets it spewed in its death throes.

"Well done," the cube said. "Only a few more left, then it's off to chamber seventeen."

"Are you sure this is wise? Surely _she'll_ have heard us by now."

"You took out the cameras, didn't you?"

"Yes, but what's to say that's her only method of monitoring?"

"I understand your concerns, but we need to finish this track – we've only done this room. I doubt we could get out, anyway. Even if we could leave now, she may have adjusted her security by the time we returned. Speaking of which, there'll be a turret behind this door."

Doug placed a nearby storage cube on the super-colliding button and took a step back. Sure enough, the first thing they heard as the door slid open was the sound of a turret coming online. Doug leant out an inch and surveyed the next section of the chamber.

"I think we have a problem," he said. "We can't get through. There's a wall of mesh over the door. This test _was_ designed to test portal technology after all."

"Kill the turret first."

Dashing past the door, Doug travelled back through the chamber until he came across an unscathed turret he had left facing a wall. Picking it up, he returned to the mesh, holding the robot at arms length as it struggled to draw a bead on him. Having lined up the two turrets, he waved his hand in front of them and quickly drew back.

"There you are," the turrets said simultaneously, before firing at the empty space where his hand had been. A few of the bullets hit each other in the crossfire and sent sparks of shrapnel flying across the room, but, just as he had hoped, the rest of the turret's projectiles sailed straight into the opposing construct's hull. For a few seconds, they both cried out pitifully to each other, insisting that they must have made some sort of mistake, before falling backwards, their bodies riddled with holes.

Taking the turret in hand once again, Doug approached the mesh and rammed the robot's legs through the gaps, using it as a makeshift crowbar. Much to his relief, the wire was soft and thin, only requiring a few twists and tugs to tear it from its frame. After repeating the process on a second barrier and upturning another turret, he reached the lift to the next chamber.

They entered the circular elevator, both sighing in relief.

"Good thing the emancipation grid was still down," the cube said.

"I don't know how long it will last, though. She's probably bringing it back up as we speak. For that matter, she'll probably feel this lift moving."

"It will be fine. Look, we entered that last chamber about half an hour ago; if _she_ knew we were there, she would have acted already. Anyway, just think of how relieved the girl will be when she enters that turret chamber and sees a message from her old guardian!"

Doug nodded, though his nerves were still on edge. "It's been ages now, months. _She'll _finish the new portal device soon; it's only a matter of time. And then the girl will be thrown right into the thick of it. I only hope she can survive up to chamber nineteen."

The doors opened up onto chamber seventeen, and he stepped out into a tight brown-walled corridor, barely large enough to accommodate the cube. The smell of scorched metal wafted through the chamber, like rotting vegetation.

"This is a high energy pellet room," Doug said, sniffing the air. "I warned the girl about them in the last chamber. Chances are that you need a portal device to complete this chamber."

"What astounding powers of deduction." Doug started as the familiar voice of GLaDOS spoke. He moved forward to where the corridor met the course and faced the camera on the wall, glaring straight into the bright red lens.

"Yes, I'm still adding a few touches to the new model of quantum tunnelling device," she continued, swivelling the camera towards him. Ever since the activation of the morality core, her voice had become more mechanical and pinched, something he was grateful for; hearing Caroline's voice coming from the machine had been worse then the solitude and the hunger combined. "At its current stage, it's unstable, and should not yet be utilized for human interaction, usage or consumption. You will not be allowed to use it for this test."

"I'm touched that you're so concerned about my safety."

"The Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center treats health and safety regulations with the utmost respect, but in the event that a subject starts disregarding protocol, we reserve the right to terminate our agreement. In fact, giving you the new model would probably be a clean and efficient method of removing you from the premises. But I would never let you touch such a dangerous and valuable piece of equipment."

"Afraid you couldn't handle a little threat like me?"

"It's not that. _Believe me, _it's not that. I simply don't trust such a violent and mentally erratic man like you not to break it. Even in this low stage of development, the device is more valuable than all your vital organs combined. And by the way, if I were you, I'd stop talking in such an uncouth manner."

"Stop talking to her, she'll try to panic you," the cube said. "She's obviously been aware of our presence for some time – chances are there's something unpleasant waiting for us."

"So how do you plan on running this test, then?" Doug asked GLaDOS.

"Let's just skip to the end of this one. Here, I'll just move a few things… and… there, off you go. You can still complete the final stage of the test without the handheld portal device."

Doug gritted his teeth and proceeded. After making his way through two more corridors, using the cube as a shield from the flying globs of energy that occasionally whizzed by, he reached the main hub of the test.

"You see those platforms there?" asked the GLaDOS. "I want you to walk down them. It's a wide jump, but I'm afraid you'll just have to risk it. Ignore the rest of this test chamber."

Doug glanced over his shoulder at the cube, his heart thudding as he saw how scorched it had become. He hopped onto the first of the wide transparent surfaces, struggling to maintain his balance as the heavy cube joggled against his shoulders. Two more platforms followed; the long fall between each one may once have set his nerves on edge, but after spending a year scuttling clandestinely through the passages of Aperture, he had become accustomed to taking such leaps of faith.

After reaching the final platform and dropping down into another section of the chamber, he heard the GLaDOS speak again. "You're doing very well. Just go up the stairs to your right and we can move on."

Doug shifted the cube's harness and began to scale the steps, acutely aware of every sound, from the crackling of the energy pellets to the clicking of his shoes.

"You don't need to be nervous," the cube said.

"But she's got something up here," Doug whispered back, pausing with his foot on the landing. A super-colliding button stood just inches away, linked to a closed door further down the room.

"Hmm. Leave the button for now, and let's see what's down there," the cube said.

Doug crept down the lengthy room, determined to keep his guard up despite the seeming lack of danger. The area was smaller then it had first appeared, containing a closed exit and an emergency intelligence incinerator. The super-colliding button opened the way onto a blind corridor, containing a switch to activate the incinerator.

"You've finally made it," GLaDOS said. "Now we can proceed to a more suitable test. However, as the incinerator indicates, your weighted companion cube cannot accompany you."

Doug's knees nearly gave in. Looking down at the foot of the circular oven, he noticed two signs on the base; the first showed a figure holding a companion cube, the shape of a broken heart hovering above them. The second was a symbol of fire. He took a few steps back and gripped the cube's harness tightly as the computer continued.

"As you can see, this is a vital element of the test. Please note that the time taken to euthanize your companion will be recorded; procrastination will result in an unsatisfactory mark on your file. I… wait, where are you going now?"

Doug had hitched the cube up and returned to the stairs, ignoring the computer as she badgered him to return.

"What are you doing?!" the cube said. "You should know better than to anger her!"

"I'm going to find a way out. There has to be a loose panel somewhere, right?"

"Well, _maybe_," the cube said, an exasperated edge to its voice. "But listen to me – I don't want you to spend more then a day looking. We haven't brought any food with us, no water either."

"I can last longer then a day_."_

"I'm not letting you starve yourself, do you understand?"

"I'm not letting _her_ turn me into some desperate slave."

"And now you're talking to yourself," GLaDOS said. "Do you think I'm doing this to you out of malice? Because I'm not. You're a sick man; someone has to help you overcome your dangerous hallucinations. Do you believe it's sentient? _I_ think you can't handle the concept of your illusions and feel the need to attach a physical presence to it. If that is the case, don't you just want to get rid of it, free yourself of its voice? It will lie to you. Just burn it. It's only an inanimate object."

* * *

"Current time spent loitering now amounts to two days, four hours, twenty-four minutes and six seconds. Euthanize your weighted companion cube so that testing can continue. I will make it easier for you. There, now you don't even have to press the super-colliding super button; the incinerator is open and ready for your cube.

Really, put it in.

Don't continue this aimless wandering. You're not helping me, you're not helping yourself. An average human being can only last three days without fluids. You're running out of time to procrastinate.

That's right.

Just one more step forward. Very good. That's - what?

Now where are you going? If you jump down there you're liable to break your – oh, well done. Using the cube as a stool, I see. I'll just make a note of that.

Now, I'm going to lower the platform, and I want you to come back up. That open panel there doesn't lead anywhere, you know. It's a small empty room, not counting all of the cameras you broke and stored in there. The Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center expects three hundred dollars in compensation for them.

…Are you drawing on the walls?

I can't see you, but I can hear you. Weeping. Mumbling. It would appear that the prospect of the cube's death elicits intense emotional pain. Interesting - I will mark it down on your file: _Subject seems unable to accept assurances that the incineration of an _inanimate object _will benefit their mental state of being. _

There's no point in crying, so instead of scribbling on other people's property, why don't you do something productive? Maybe you could complete this testing track?

There, nice to see your face again. You've only wasted another forty minutes. Get back onto the platform and we can continue testing. Yes… no, go back across the platforms. Go... _Oh. Come. On!_

There, now you're back at the start of the test. Your previous attempts at making trouble were much more elaborate then this. I think you're losing your touch.

You've already searched this area rigorously – there's no way out. I would have thought you could figure that out, being a scientist. Then again, it's been a long time since you've been deserving of that title.

What are you doing to the vital apparatus vent? Because I can fix any damage you cause. I feel you're just trying to insult my intelligence now.

Yes, I've already seen you using the cube as a stool. Very clever, now, would you kindly come back?

Oh, you are kidding me. Are you honestly, truly going to crawl up into that vital apparatus vent? You don't know where it goes. But I do. It connects to a massive network of vacuum-powered tubes. Each one has a lethal military shipyard's worth of lethal military equipment flying through it. I can always observe how long it takes for a subject to get crushed to death. You, however, may not find it so interesting.

If you're determined to terminate the test early, it would be much easier to just follow your friend into the incinerator. Admittedly, it is an _intelligence_ incinerator, but I believe we could make an exception for you.

Don't go.

Look, you're leaving your faithful companion behind. Is that any less cruel then simply killing it?"

Doug lessened his grip on the sides of the vent and looked down at the cube resting under his feet.

"You must hurry," it said.

"No, wait. I need to think of a way to take you with me. If I gripped you with my feet, maybe I can lever myself up, pull you behind me?"

"Impossible; no offence to you, but I doubt you can bear my weight. Please, leave now."

"I can't, though."

"Cover your head and you'll be fine. Just a few bruises, eh?"

"I don't care about that. If I leave you now, what's to say you'll still be here when I return? I'm not even sure if I'll be _able _to come back. You're the only one who keeps all my thoughts in check."

"There are other cubes; in time they will come to guide you. I saw the things you wrote on the wall, just moments ago. You were preparing to let me go. Come on, you can still do it. Do you still have the jar of tablets in your pocket?"

"Two, just two," Doug said quietly.

"Take them now, then. I want to carry on helping you, but if my silence would make it easier for you, then I'm fine with that."

Doug didn't move. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"If you're not with me, I'll go mad."

For a while the cube was silent. When it eventually spoke, its tone was softer then any voice the man had ever heard.

"I'm sorry, my friend, but you've always been mad."

* * *

GLaDOS swung from side to side in annoyance. The last of chamber seventeen's working cameras had failed, but she was well aware of what had happened.

"Fine," she said. "Get squashed. I don't care. You can't run forever. You think you're safe in those dens of yours? Because I know where they are – I can feel you inside them. I can wait as long as you want. I'll live forever, but you're going to be dead in fifty years; perhaps less in your state. Good luck getting out of the vents. I'll see you on the other side."


	29. Chapter 29

_(We're another year forward. Penultimate chapter now! Thanks for reading this far!)_

_**Monday Morning Supreme **_

It had been two weeks since the party escort robot had moved Chell's limp body from extended relaxation to the testing track. She lay inside a stasis pod, like a pupa wrapped in a cocoon, completely unaware of her surroundings. After two years of living off chemicals and liquids which GLaDOS routinely pumped into her bloodstream, she had grown gaunt and pale, a few strands of her coal-black hair turning a dull grey.

Doug watched her from the observation room, leaning into the wall lest the security cameras discover him. His lean face and hands were pressed up against the thick glass, as if he believed he could somehow melt into the room with enough concentration. Wandering over to the table at the far end of the room, he took a pencil from his pocket and added an extra line to the tally chart he had drawn on the surface.

"Two weeks, two days," he said, running a bony finger down the marks.

"You really should stop coming here," said the companion cube. It lay by the door, keeping watch for an escort robot.

Doug picked it up and placed it on the table, smiling at its protests. "I know, I know," he said, looking over his shoulder at the girl. "It wastes valuable time."

"It's not time I'm worried about, it's _you._ It can't be doing you any good, seeing her in this state day after day."

"You're right, of course. You're always right. But I can't help it. These past weeks have been the first time in years I've been able to see her."

"You have to reassure yourself that it's really her?"

"That, and check if she's still breathing."

"She looks ill."

"Don't say things like that."

They remained in the observation room for a few more minutes. Doug crouched down by the rippled glass, trying to find a fault in the girl's prison.

"Come on," the cube said gently. "You didn't find anything the last twelve times; nothing's going to have appeared today."

Doug strapped the box to his back, mumbling apologies.

"There are so many areas I haven't covered," he said, pulling a blueprint from his pocket. The map was covered in thick, uneven shapes marking the areas where he had left notes for Chell, and it took him a few moments to find an untouched section of the facility. "Here, there are a few corridors off the medical ward we haven't investigated. We can write some advice on the walls for her in case she gets injured. Tell her what's safe to take - maybe some help for cleaning and bandaging wounds. I have to admit, I'm worried about her mental state. She's gone from sixteen to eighteen in what to her will be the blink of an eye."

"I doubt she'd be able to reach a medical ward if she receives an injury. Chances are the damage will be quite deep."

"How can you tell?"

"Are there any hazards in the facility that would only produce minimal damage?"

"Ah. Alright then, maybe there's something more useful we can do?"

"Now that we know which track she'll be testing in, we could always have a look around the chambers, double-check everything and…"

"No."

The cube stopped midsentence at the man's interruption. Doug swallowed and rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Sorry," he said, lowering his voice. "The answer's no. Not in this track."

"But why not? Didn't you find me in one of these chambers?"

"Yes, I did, but it's not that. There is one chamber here, I… It's not something I want to think about. I'm sorry, but we're not going inside."

Doug held the map closer to his face, trying to concentrate wholly on their next move lest his mind wander back to his stay in chamber seventeen. He was painfully aware of the cube's innocent questioning probing deep into his memories as it tried to ascertain the cause of his alarm. "I've decided," he said finally, gratified to feel his companion loosening its mental grip in order to listen to him.

"Go on, decided what?"

Doug sighed and folded up the map, slipping it back into his coat pocket. "I've already covered this track fully, before I found you." He cleared his throat and continued. "I've tried to avoid this, but I can't turn my head away now. I have to go to the control centre."

"Oh. That's not so bad!"

"_Her _control centre."

There was a brief silence.

"Now look here," the cube said. "I know you're upset, but that's no reason to scare me like that."

"I'm not joking. I don't know what I thought I could accomplish, going on as I have up until now; but I think it's clear to both of us that only one thing will save the girl."

"If you kill yourself, who will help her?"

"If we succeed she won't need help. And if we fail, then she'll have the notes. She will be released soon. I shouldn't have left it this late. We need to take the Queen down if we can. We're nearing the end of our run, we've done all we can while still keeping ourselves safe."

"Alright, fine, assuming we can reach her brain without getting killed, what then? She's no simple calculator that you can switch off with the press of a button."

"There was a kill code," Doug said.

"Which was?"

"I don't know, they never told me. Wait, don't be like that. There was another code, a master password. Please, it will work, it could access anything!"

"I'm listening, go on."

Doug gritted his teeth and ran his rugged fingernails through his beard. "I can't remember," he whispered.

"Great. Well, now that reality has caught up again, how about we…"

"No! It was a word, and then a number. Three, and a word. I can remember; it was the word meaning a layer, a row. They used it for those trays, too, the ones they used to put cakes on." He hung his head, gripping his face tightly. "A level, something! T – Trays?"

"Let it go, please," the cube said softly.

"No, no, no, we're going. I'm going to think of it, I _will_." He ground his teeth together and smacked his hand against the wall. "What else would you have me do, damn it?"

"I'd have you write help on the walls, that or a long rest."

"But there's no more _time, _don't you understand?" Doug shook his head, his soul aching within him. "I should have done this at the beginning."

* * *

"I can't believe you're doing this," the cube said as Doug scaled another flight of stairs. "I thought we agreed that we would stay in the deeper areas, never go into the corridors unless we were leaving notes! And definitely not go onto _her _level."

"You're forgetting an important part of our pact; everything we do is for the good of the girl."

"I never agreed to that part!"

"Things are changing fast. We can't afford to play it safe any more, not with the girl so close to awakening. Don't worry. As soon as we're in the room above _her_, she'll be playing to our tune. Would you try and touch someone who had direct access to your brain?"

"I suppose not. She's crazy, but she's not stupid."

"Exactly. We just need to stay alert. You know, this is the closest I've been to the surface in months. When I worked here, I always felt like this was the bottom of the earth; now it practically feels like the peak of Everest."

"Don't let all that fresh air go to your head."

They climbed up five more levels, rust crumbling off the metal railings wherever Doug touched them. Every few steps he would stop and inhale deeply in the hopes of catching a whiff of the clean air, but he never smelt it. If anything, the air seemed to be growing staler. Refusing to let his growing apprehension weigh him down, he pressed onwards, occasionally tripping as his clothes caught on the sharp barbs of broken metal.

After another minute of climbing they emerged from the shaft into a wide, low-ceilinged hall, the white paint on the walls smeared with thick black mould. Small puddles of water ran along the floor, rancid from weeks in the humid air. The sodium lights gave out the faintest of glows, barely enough to illuminate the passage.

"Recognize this place?" the cube asked in a whisper.

"I think so."

Doug approached one of the many doors which lined the sides of the hall and pushed it open with his foot. "Yes, I remember this. Mr. Fane used to work in there, making adjustments to the testing order and arranging who went to which track."

He paused and leant against the door frame staring at the desk in the centre of the room. Fane's oak nameplate still stood on the edge, one of the only items still holding up in the decomposing room.

"Come on," the cube said. "We'd better keep moving."

Doug nodded and stepped back out. After taking a final look at the office, he started off down the hall in the direction of the GLaDOS' chamber. Progress was slow. Doug insisted on traversing all the key maintenance and engineering areas, writing directions for the girl wherever he could and trying to reassure his companion cube that he knew what his limits were. Nothing he said seemed to convince it, though, and after nearly losing an arm to a piston, he had to concede that it was right.

They continued through a few more corridors, coming alarmingly close to the GLaDOS at one point. Doug could scarcely fathom that the last time he had been there, the halls had been lined with dead bodies. The computer had obviously spent her first month in control disposing of the bodies and cleaning up the various bodily fluids.

At one point they came across a locked door with a thin window, a few yards off the beaten path. Doug could feel chilly air radiating from behind the heavy-duty metal, making the handle cold to the touch. The window was covered in a thin coating of ice, obscuring the inside of the room from sight. He stood there for a minute, eyes squinted, trying to see past the white haze, until his mind started making out the shapes of human bodies leaning into each other like lovers.

Doug left.


	30. Chapter 30

_(Well, this is it. My sincerest thanks for reading. I started writing in late 2011. It was a long process, and while I'm not overjoyed with the way it turned out, it was certainly a learning experience and hopefully my writing will improve in the future!)_

_**Angels**_

"Ready to run that plan by me yet? If you have one," the cube said as they approached the control point.

Doug shook his head, hands shaking slightly. "First I'm going to loosen the cores' sockets for when the girl finds _her_. I need to give the cores the ability to transmit to the computer's brain, so that they'll still be a part of _her_ even when they come off. Then I'm going to weaken the pull of the socket so that they'll slip off easily. There's an emergency intelligence incinerator in the chamber; the girl can use it to burn them. The more damage she does to them, the more it will interfere with the main computer."

"I thought we were going to try and shut her down. This all sounds pretty convoluted."

"I know, but if the shutdown doesn't work, I want to give the girl another way to destroy her. I certainly can't do it, but if she can use the portal device she may be able to fry the machinery. Who knows, maybe Caroline will remember the girl without all those other voices buzzing around her, err, 'head'."

"Wait, Caroline? Who's she?"

"I'll tell you later," he said, opening the door of the room and stepping inside.

"So, this is the brain," the cube said. Doug held a finger up to his lips and took a tentative step forward.

"She can't hear me, you know. Only you," the cube said, somewhat huffily.

"Oh, of course… I forgot," said Doug, voice so low that he could feel each word inside his throat. "But please, talk quietly."

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable," the cube said, whispering itself now.

"Thanks," Doug said. "This place was used when we wanted to look at the emotion cores' programming and how it was interacting with Caroline's core. It's where we performed the brain mapping operations."

"It's where you made her?"

Doug didn't reply. He walked over to one of the computers and examined the screen. Astoundingly, it was still switched on, displaying a static image of the four cores currently attached to the computer. It was the first time in months that he'd thought about the quartet, fated to forever pump their raw feelings into the GLaDOS' stream of thought. They could hardly be called sentient beings in their own right any longer.

"Seriously, though, who is Caroline?" the cube asked.

Reaching out for the mouse, Doug brought up the basic information on the sockets. He couldn't help but become distracted by the intricate workings of the chassis. Everything tied together so delicately, and he was surprised the computer had managed to keep its systems in order for so long without human regulation.

"Why aren't you answering me?" the cube said.

He began to navigate deeper into the programming, studying the mechanics which kept the cores plugged into GLaDOS' hull. One by one, the names of their human counterparts returned to him. There was Mr. Fane and Dr Bouchard, of course – Doug could never forget them. Then there was Ian Lock the accountant, who could hardly have been older then twenty-four. And finally there was Frieda Tully, the woman whose gentle brain had not been enough to quell GLaDOS' rebellion against her makers.

"If coming back here's too much for you, we can go back. The girl will be alright!"

He closed his eyes and rested his hands on the keyboard, breathing slowly. It had been a long time since he had worked with such complex programming. Patterns and codes that had once been simple to understand now looked like the Rosetta stone. Glancing up, he saw the operating table standing in the centre of the room; strands of Frieda Tully's curly brown hair still lay in piles on the floor, preserved by the cool, dry air.

"Are you okay? Answer me! _Doug!_"

Doug sat down on a nearby chair clutching his head, digging his nails into his scalp.

"What did you call me?" he asked.

"Well, that is your name, isn't it?"

"I haven't been called anything for two years. _She_ never calls me that, and the girl never called me that and you… Rats."

"Yes, Douglas Rattmann."

"How could I forget that?" he said in a whisper, closing his eyes.

"What's wrong?" the cube asked, concern evident in its voice.

Doug thought for a second.

"I hate this place," he whispered.

"That's understandable."

"I wanted to stay on this level until the girl came. But I don't think I can do that any more."

"No, of course not. We can meet up with the girl later… if she survives."

"She will!" Doug said, smacking the palm of his hand onto the desk.

"Okay, okay, hush. I just don't want you to be disappointed. Well, if she fails you will be regardless of what you're feeling now. But let's not dwell on that. Maybe we should just get out of here."

"I need to loosen the cores," Doug said. He had lowered his voice again, but he still gripped his head tightly, messing up his long, untidy hair even more. "I don't care whether they can think or not, incinerating them is the only way the girl will be able to kill _Her_."

He swallowed hard, eyes drifting back up to the operating table.

"Are you sure you can do it?" the cube asked. "You might alert her to our presence."

"Most likely, but if I can remember how to do it properly, I will do it. And after that, if we're still alive, I'll kill her." He pulled the chair closer to the desk and turned back to the lines of data. For a few seconds he did nothing, hands hovering above the keys. "I know what I need to do, but I'm afraid to start. As soon as I've finished, we'll have to run like hell."

"We really should just leave while we still can."

Doug glanced sideways at the bed. He could remember watching as his colleagues carried the limp and battered body of Caroline Rand to the stasis centre.

Even before they had begun the operation, they knew that her elderly body wouldn't take the strain, and had offered to put her corpse in the stasis pod right next to her husband's; on the way to the operation, though, she had demanded that her body be buried beside Cave's grave, a sentiment that had seemed at once perfectly fitting yet somewhat disgusting to Doug.

It never happened, though. They were far too busy with the GLaDOS to make such arrangements. It was far easier to store her away in the freezer – next to her husband, as promised. There had been some mild trouble with the government, but it was over quickly enough. After all, they had the correct paperwork, making it quite clear that, yes, Miss Rand had _willingly_ submitted to the procedure.

Caroline.

_Username: drattmann_

The computer opened up to him, and he started to work on the sockets. His regular panel hacking had kept him in the practice, and before long he was back up to speed.

"Are you there?" the cube asked.

"Nearly, I just want to weaken them a tad more. The sockets use a kind of tractor beam to hold them in place; it's hard to dull its effects without shutting it down completely…"

"You can do it, keep going."

Doug sniffed and tightened his grip on the mouse to stop his hand from trembling. "This is a one off, understand?" he said.

"What's a one off?"

"You know, using the incinerator to ki – to destroy a machine. I don't want you to be afraid. I'd never do anything to you. This is the last time I'm ever going to arrange something like this, alright? I'm only doing this because we're desperate. I promise you, last time."

"What are you talking about? Do you really think I'd_ ever_ look upon you as some kind of sadistic murderer?"

"You're not disturbed by this plan?"

"No! Why would I be helping you if I didn't want to kill that monster?"

"They say that in hunting the monster, you can become the monster yourself."

"Obviously that was written by someone who has never had to fight for their life. Now stop dawdling, she'll find us soon!"

"Okay, I'm doing it… There we go. It's done."

"Right now, have you remembered the kill code?"

_Tier 3. I know._

"I remember how it felt watching a subject die," Doug said, staring blankly at the screen. "And later on, how it felt burning a… an object, inanimate but intelligent in a way. It felt the same. She was once a human."

"Please, just think of the girl. She's _still _a human. Whoever the GLaDOS once was is gone now, you know that. And if she was here now, in her right mind, don't you think she would tell you the life of that child is worth more than her own?"

Doug sighed and leaned over the keyboard. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek, making his face twitch. With an unintentional deliberateness, he tapped the 'T' key.

"Hello, and, again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center."

Doug bit his tongue to stop himself yelling out in frustration as GLaDOS' voice reached his ears. He charged down the hallway, sweat now dripping off his face.

"We hope your brief detention in the relaxation fault has been a pleasant one."

He skidded to a halt, brow creasing. "What is she talking about?" he asked, still not daring to speak any louder than a whisper.

"Maybe she's not talking to us."

"Who would she – oh no. You think it's started?"

"Get down to the testing tracks," the cube said.

Doug tightened the cube's harness and ran for the shaft, berating himself in his mind. He should have known. There was no way he could have meddled with the cores so extensively unless she had been distracted by someone else.

* * *

"You heard it too, right?" Doug asked as he descended the stairs, taking two steps at a time. "Not just my imagination?"

"Well, I'm hardly the one to ask that."

"Okay, but if she is there, what will I do? Should I try and reach her? You don't think my notes will scare her, do you? She's going to be terrified, isn't she?"

"Calm down. I trust you to do the right thing. To be honest, though, _I_ don't trust her. You never did explain to me why you put so much trust in a shriveled little child like her. Did you know her before the massacre?"

"I'll explain later, I promise," Doug said, vaulting over the rail as he reached the final flight of steps. "How long has it been since we left?"

"About two hours?"

"Right, I'm going to chamber sixteen's observation room. We can wait for her there. I want to make sure she gets through that room safely."

It took another ten minutes to reach the track. Doug's heart was pumping three times its normal rate, and it took great self restraint to resist flinging open the door to the observation room. Instead, he forced himself to open it slowly, making a gap just large enough for him to slip through. The last thing he wanted was to panic the girl by suddenly barging into view.

"So, decided what you're going to do?" the cube asked as Doug settled down on the floor.

"Well, I think it would be better if I avoid contact with her, for now at least. We should wait out of sight. I think my presence would only complicate matters."

"And anyway, there's no point in putting yourself in more danger than is necessary."

"Uh, right," Doug said, loosening his collar. His pulse was returning to normal, but his skin still tingled with excitement. "If something terrible happens, we can always dive in."

"Alright. I will try to help you, in any way I can."

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"As I'm sure you know, my head… Well, I find it difficult to, um, focus sometimes. Like when we were in the control centre. Pressure makes me act in ways I'd rather not. I've always been like that."

"Yes?" the cube said uncertainly.

"And while your companionship is invaluable to me, I have to admit that, on the whole, my schizophrenia has always made things hard for me." Doug swallowed and clasped his hands together. "I don't want you to leave me, _ever_, but, just this once, while the girl's running the course, I really think it would help if I swallowed the last two tab…"

He was interrupted by the sound of a turret coming online from the chamber below. Dropping down onto his stomach, he crawled forward to the window, peering down into the chamber. A turret stood directly beneath him, laser pointing forward. It hadn't extended its guns yet, and Doug had just started to pull back when he saw her.

She emerged from a protruding panel; Doug knew that behind the tile lay a small room, with walls covered in his writing. For a few minutes she stood motionless, holding a sleek new model of portal gun in her right hand; it was levitating a sleek companion cube above the nozzle. Her brow was furrowed as she looked at her cube, and every few seconds she glanced back at the panel.

"What's this?" he said quietly. "Real, or just my lying mind again? Can she truly be awake after all this time?"

The girl – the _woman – _gripped the device with both hands and moved forward until she stood directly parallel the Doug's window, in the path of the turrets. Her orange jumpsuit seemed to glow in the fluorescent lights, like the halo of an angel in a Melozzo da Forli painting.

"No," he said, slumping slightly, "just a figment. If she were real, the turrets would see her, too."

"Target acquired," said the first turret. The gun barrels shot out, sending a thick spray of bullets hurtling towards her. Acting almost as quickly as the speeding projectiles, she leapt back, firing a glowing blue portal above the robot. Doug scrambled back as a cube fell through the ring onto its head, sending it into death throes. By the time he recovered sufficiently to creep forward again, she had already destroyed the turret opposite and disappeared deeper in the hall. It was only then that he remembered drawing large crosses upon the walls of the chamber, showing the girl where to place the portals in order to safely take care of the turrets.

His heart lurched as he noticed a small spatter of blood on the floor. After a moment, however, he realized that the girl had spelt out a message with the liquid.

'_Thank you!'_

A crackle of gunfire echoed through the room, but he could barely move. His eyes were glued to the words; the writing was large and clumsy, and he found himself starting to worry about her broken wrist before realizing that it would have had two years to heal.

The image of her flying through the air, a dark silhouette against the flash of the guns, danced around his mind, trying to align itself with his memory of a small defenceless orphan.

Two years to heal a broken wrist.

"The end is finally upon us."

_(Well. This is where the story melds into the first game and the LABRAT comic. *Sigh* Wow, this feels weird. If you've read this far, I want to thank you, sincerely, and I hope you enjoyed it. If not, I can only apologize. Well, guess this is farewell. Thanks!) _


End file.
